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LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


•" 


*S 


EUTAW: 


A  SEQUFL   TO 


The  Forayers;  or,  The  Raid  of  the  Dog-Days, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  DEVOLUTION. 


BY  W    GILMOKE   SIMMS, 

e* 

AUTHOR  OF  kl  THE  .PARTISAN,"    "  MELLICHAMPE,"     "KATHARINE   WALTON, 
"  THE  FOBAYEBS,'-   "THE  SCOUT,"  "WOODCRAFT,"  "  CHARLEMONT,"  ETC. 


"  The  southern  wind 
Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes; 
And,  by  hi^  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves, 
Foretell  a  tempest." 

SHAKESPEARE. 


OF 


anD  IRckisct)  Coition, 


CHIO^VGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 


DONOHUE  &  HENNEBERRY 

PRINTF.KS  A\n  BINDERS, 
CHICAGO^ 


PS  2-8M-8 

E« 
I8^o 
MA  U4 


£  U  T  A  1, 

CHAPTER   I. 

PRELUDE. 

IT  is  surely  an  early  hour  for  the  whip-poor-will  to  begin 
her  monotonous  plaiiiings,  sitting  on  her  accustomed  hawthorn, 
just  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp.  The  sun  has  hardly  dropped 
from  sight  behind  the  great  pine- thickets.  His  crimson  and 
orange  robes  still  flaunt  and  flicker  in  the  western  heavens 
gleams  from  his  great  red  eyes  still  purple  the  tree-tops ;  and 
you  may  still  see  a  cheerful  light  hanging  in  the  brave,  free 
atmosphere  ;  while  gray  shapes,  like  so  many  half-hooded  friars, 
glide  away  through  the  long  pine-avenues,  inviting  you,  as  it 
would  seem,  to  follow,  while  they  steal  away  slowly  from  pur 
suit  into  the  deeper  thickets  of  the  swamp. 

That  melancholy  night-nird  Is  premature  with  her  chant. 
She  anticipates  the  night.  Emerging  from  the  gloomy  harbors 
of  the  Cawcaw,  she  has  not  guessed  what  a  delicious  twilight 
yet  lingers  along  the  hills,  persuading  Humanity  to  revery,  and 
inspiring  a  thousand  sweet  fancies  into  cheerful  activity. 

But  no  !  she  is  not  alone.,  nor  premature.  The  frogs  are  :n 
fall  concert  also,  with  their  various  chant ;  and  now  you  li'wir 
the  sudden,  deep  bellow  of  the  steel-jawed  cayman,  as,  r'nng 
from  the  turbid  poo],  he  stretches  away  toward  '.l-o  -asl-y  b-  $\e 
:>f  the  stream. 


6  EUTAW. 

But  for  these  sounds,  Low  deep  were  the  silence  along  the 
Inn-dors  of  that  massed  and  seemingly  impervious  thicket  —  that 
dense  region  of  ambush  —  shrub,  bramble,  reed,  and  tree  —  cy 
presses  and  pines  crowding  each  other  from  the  path,  and 
stretching  upward  as  if  to  catch  the  last  gleams  of  rosy  sunlight 
—  all  laced  together  firmly,  fettered  like  a  chain-gang,  by  the 
serpent-like  twinings  of  the  insidious  vine,  which  clambers  over 
their  tops,  and  winds  itself  about  all  their  limbs  ! 

Very  still,  very  silent  all  the  scene,  as  if  earth,  air,  and  forest, 
were  all  awed  to  worship.  But  only  for  a  moment.  The  frog- 
chant  is  resumed,  and,  for  awhile,  continues  unbroken.  Sud 
denly  you  hear  the  roar  of  the  cayman ;  then,  as  the  silence 
begins  to  feel  heavy  upon  the  ear,  almost  beside  you  the  night- 
bird  again  complains  —  this  time  seemingly  in  flight,  as  she 
speeds  out  to  the  hill-slopes,  seeking  a  higher  perch  for  song, 
and  other  auditories.  You  hear  her  now  from  among  the  pine- 
thickets  above. 

Down  the  slopes  —  for  these  risings  of  the  ground  can  scarce 
ly  be  called  hills  —  the  Night  is  pitching  her  dusky  tents  apace. 
The  shadows  fall  in  successive  clouds.  You  feel  the  transitions, 
which  you  can  not  well  see,  from  light  to  obscurity.  Each  in 
stant  brings  its  ([nick  transition.  There  is  hardly  any  twilight 
here.  The  day-star  sinks.  A  blood-red  or  orange  flag  hangs, 
like  a  signal,  for  a  single  moment,  from  his  western  tower;  is 
then  suddenly  withdrawn,  leaving  in  place  only  a  dusky  stream 
er  ;  and  that  as  suddenly  disappears  within  the  tents  of  Night. 
The  gray  of  twilight  thickens  magically  into  darkness.  It  is  a 
progress  of  mysteries,  managed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  like 
the  wondrous  changes  effected  by  some  matchless  wizard. 

And  how  fitting  the  accompaniment  —  that  chant  of  the  night- 
bird,  sudden  as  she  Hits  from  shade  to  shade  ;  that  wild,  guttu 
ral  strain  in  chorus  from  the  swamp  ;  that  hoane  bellow  of  the 
cayman  at  intervals  !  These  are  all  minister?  to  Silence  —  to 
the  wild  and  solemn  harmonies  of  the  desolate  abode  —  the 
place,  the  hour  —  the  dusky  purposes  of  Night.  They  break 
not  the  spell  :  they  rather  burden  it  with  an  awful  significance, 

Now,  down  these  slopes,  from  the  eminence  of  great  pines,  if 
you  descend  to  the  thickets  of  the  swamp,  you  shall  take  your 
stops  with  a  frequent  pause,  and  tread  heedfully;  for,  verily. 


PRELUDE.  7 

your  eyes  shall  now  avail  you  little.  Yet  there  is  a  growing 
light  upon  the  rising  ground.  The  stars  begin  to  steal  forth 
upon  the  evening  —  timidly,  one  by  one,  even  as  scouts  of  an 
army  feel  their  way  to  security,  before  they  summon  the  hosts 
to  follow.  But,  in  ar other  moment,  even  as  you  look,  they 
start  up,  and  out,  without  trump  or  drum,  and  appear  by  squad 
rons  and  regiments,  all  in  brightest  armory.  And  each  division 
takes  its  place  in  regular  array  —  their  watches  set  severally  on 
the  highest  places,  and  all  their  camp-fires  lighted,  and  blazing 
brightly  in  the  benignant  atmosphere.  The  hosts  are  bivou 
acked  in  heaven. 

But  the  swamp-recesses  darken  even  as  the  hilltops  of  heaven 
grow  bright.  It  is  not  even  for  such  clear-eyed  and  beautiful 
watchers  to  pierce  their  gloomy  depths.  The  pitchy  tents  be 
low  are  impenetrable ;  and  frog  and  cayman  exult  aloud,  in 
horrid  concert,  even  because  of  the  dense  thickets  which  keep 
them  from  the  loving  eyes  of  the  stars. 

Hark !  there  are  other  sounds  than  such  as  issue  from  throat 
of  night-bird  or  reptile.  They  hold  not  the  empire  to  them 
selves.  It  is  a  bugle  that  speaks  shrilly  to  the  night.  One 
single,  sharp  note  —  a  signal  —  and  all  is  again  silent,  save  the 
whip-poor-will. 

The  solitude  is  broken.  There  is  a  light  —  a  torch  that  flits 
through  the  woods  above,  and  along  the  narrow  ridges,  where 
the  ground  slopes  toward  the  swamp.  It  approaches.  You 
hear  the  tramp  of  steeds.  They  are  descending  toward  us  — 
down,  even  to  the  deep  thickets  —  and  slowly  pick  their  way 
along  the  uneven  ledges.  You  may  see  them  by  the  torch,  as 
it  waves  aloft  and  onward  —  some  twenty  troopers  or  more,  as 
they  pass  in  single  file  down  into  the  gloom  —  the  torch-bearer, 
on  foot,  showing  them  the  narrow  trail,  which,  one  by  one,  they 
take  in  silence.  They  are  now  buried  from  sight,  swallowec1 
up  in  the  close  embrace  of  that  wilderness  of  shadow ! 

It  is  a  time  and  a  region  of  many  cares,  and  cruel  strifes, 
and  wild,  dark,  mortal  mysteries.  And  these  gloomy  thickets, 
and  yonder  deep  recesses,  harmonize  meetly  with  the  perverse 
deeds  of  man.  The  cry  of  beast  or  reptile,  the  chant  of  melan 
choly  bird,  the  darkness  of  night,  the  awful  silence  'which  fills 
up  the  hour  —  these  are  all  in  concert  with  the  actors  in  (ho 


6  EUT-AW. 

scene.  There  is  ccncealm,n:  j^re  —  a  secrecy  which  may  be 
full  of  mischief,  perhaps  ol  for:  or.  It  may  be  the  outlaw  that 
row  3eeks  his  harborage.  It  may  be  the  patriot,  who  would 
find  temporary  refuge  from  vindictive  pursuit.  There  are  armed 
leg  '.Hi;,  heavy  of  hand,  and  cruel  in  their  might,  not  far  remote. 
Let  us  follow  the  footsteps  of  these  strange  and  silent  horsemen, 
and  see  where  they  hive  themselves  to-nifrht.  We  may  need 
to  spy  out  their  mysteries,  and  rop  rt  what  leeds  of  ill  they  do, 
c  meditate. 

We  follow  the  receding  light.  Wo  descend  the  little  slopes. 
The  Ian"1,  undulates.  Now  we  are  on  the  swells  of  hard,  red 
clay.  Now  we  sink.  The  way  is  broken  before  us  into  holes 
and  rivulets.  The  fallen  cypress,  half  buried  in  the  long  grasses, 
stretches  at  our  feet.  We  scramble  over  it,  only  to  plunge  into 
*he  turbid  waters  of  the  bayou.  Here  is  a  fenny  bed  of  rushes, 
//•lieiv,  ';!i3  alligator  has  found  his  sleep.  We  cross  a  clammy 
moat;  we  scramble  up  a  rugged  caussway,  at  the  farther  end 
of  which  you  may  see  the  torch  waving  to  the  horsemen.  The 
bearer  of  it  stands  upon  a  fallen  tree,  spanning  a  gorge,  in  which 
you  see  a  shattered  wheel  in  a  half-choked  mill-race.  The 
horsemen  wind  along  below  him,  near  the  edge  of  the  c«,ao6- 
way.  Now  they  leap  their  steeds  across  the  ditch,  runm.-.v 
with  dark-glistening  water ;  and  now  they  scramble  up  th  , 
banks  opposite. 

Ah  !  there  is  the  ancient  mill-seat,  half  in  ruins,  and  tottering 
to  its  fall.  The  light  sweeps  rounds  it  to  the  rear,  The  horse 
men  follow,  winding  out  of  sight  for  a  moment,  and  over  a  path 
way  which  we  do  not  see.  It  is  among  bays  and  willows,  be 
yond  that  lake  of  cypresses.  They  disappear  from  sight.  The 
bearer  of  the  torch  reappears  upon  a  rising  ground,  and  behind 
him  stands  the  rude  log-house  of  the  miller.  The  horsemen 
join  him.  They  pass  beyond  the  log-house. 

Again  the  bugle  sounds.  The  light  now  gleams  through  the 
open  fissures  of  the  cabin  ;  and  you  may  note  the  horsemen,  as, 
one  by  one,  or  in  small  groups,  each  afoot,  they  make  their 
way  to  the  dwelling.  They  have  fastened  their  horses  in  the 
thicket.  They  are  bearing  in  their  saddles  and  furniture  ;  some 
carry  bundles,  others  but  their  weapons.  There  is  a  hoarse  voice 
in  command;  there  ?in-  ,  tin  :s  that  .aihv.er  to  it.  They  are  all 


PRELUDE.  1 

»  w  within  the  dwelling,  and  here  will  they  make  their  refuge 
for  the  night.  Already  the  fire  gleams  ruddily  from  the  old 
clay  chimney-place,  and  brightens  up  the  rugged  apartment. 

And  all  is  still  without.  You  can  hear  but  a  rill  that  chafes 
against  the  roots  of  trees,  as  it  trickles  down  unseen  below.  As 
you  cross  the  fallen  tree  that  spans  the  gorge,  you  feel  the  sud 
den  breeze  sweep  up  about  you  from  across  the  great  basin  of 
the  mill-seat.  It  spreads  away  on  the  north  and  east,  surround 
ed  by  gaunt  and  ghostly  cypresses,  that  wave  their  heads 
mournfully  in  the  starlight.  The  breeze  sways  the  tops  of  yon 
der  green  pines,  and  they  murmur  back,  as  if  replying  in  their 
sleep. 

Hark !  an  owl  in  the  old  millhouse !  What  strange  mood 
makes  him  there,  with  his  wretched  whoop,  when  the  cypresses 
offer  him  their  arms  on  every  side  ?  But  for  his  discordant  cry, 
how  dead  would  be  the  stillness  of  all  the  scene,  the  very  stars 
keeping  in  their  breath,  as  they  strain,  with  all  their  eyes,  cc 
see  the  deeds  which  are  done  in  these  night-tents  upon  earth  I 

1* 


10  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    FLORIDA    REFUGEES. 

THE  group  assembled  in  the  old  cabin  of  Rhodes,  the  miller, 
was  of  military,  but  motley  complexion ;  one  of  the  numerous 
bands  of  irregular  troops,  half-soldier,  half-plunderer,  that,  for 
so  long  a  time,  during  the  last  three  years  of  the  war  of  the 
Revolution,  continued  to  infest  the  rural  regions  of  South  Caro 
lina.  Their  half-savage  costume  was  picturesque  enough,  if  not 
uniform  ;  wild,  and  sufficiently  impressive,  but  not  such  as  would 
mark  any  regular  service.  The  squad  consisted  of  some  twenty 
persons,  all  told.  Their  chief  was  a  stalwart  ruffian,  well-built, 
vigorous,  and,  no  doubt,  quite  capable  of  leading  boldly,  and 
with  fair  success,  in  any  equal  struggle,  such  a  force  as  that 
which  he  commanded.  Rude,  irregular,  untrained,  and  lawless, 
the  swarthy  outlaws  grouped  about  the  lowly  cabin  where  we 
find  them,  were,  at  least,  a  fearless  gang  of  blackguards.  They 
could  fight  better  than  pray ;  could  more  easily  strike  than 
serve ;  and,  truth  to  speak,  were  of  a  character  to  render  no 
command  a  sinecure,  of  which  they  were  the  subjects.  Their 
laws  readily  yielded  to  their  moods;  and,  in  this  respect,  they 
had  very  little  the  advantage  of  their  leader.  He  was  a  wild, 
irregular,  licentious  savage,  like  themselves ;  and  was  recog 
nised  as  a  chief  on!/  because  of  his  stalwart  frame  and  superior 
audacity.  His  costume  somewhat  distinguished  him  from  his 
followers.  lie  wore  the  epaulette  of  a  captain  —  a  chapeau 
bras  —  which  might  have  been  plucked  from  the  cold  brows  of 
some  English  officer  in  some  luckless  battle-field  ;  a  green 
plume,  which  was  sufficiently  frayed  to  prove  the  hard  service 
of  its  owner;  a  grcvcn  sash,  which  betrayed  its  frequent  rents 


THE    FLORIDA    REFUGEES.  11 

in  spite  of  frequent  patchwork.  His  sword  was  a  stout  cime 
ter-shaped  weapon,  which  dangled  in  a  plated  scabbard,  from  a 
belt  of  common  leather.  Beyond  these  distinctions,  which  were 
not  much  superior  to  those  worn  by  one  of  his  lieutenants,  there 
was  nothing  much  to  separate  Captain  Lem  or  Lemuel  Watkins, 
from  one  of  his  lieutenants,  who  enjoyed  a  similar  equipment, 
and  whose  bulk  and  whiskers  were  of  like  dimensions  with 
those  of  his  superior.  Of  moral  or  intellectual  authority,  our 
captain  displayed  but  little.  But  he  practised  a  savage  dis 
cipline  of  his  own,  which  sometimes  suddenly  arrested  the  ex 
cesses  of  his  band,  whom  long  indulgence  would  naturally  bring 
into  occasional  license,  in  conflict  with  his  patience  or  his  mood. 
Beyond  this,  there  was  but  little  discipline  among  the  marauders. 

They  were  not  congregated  together  for  the  purposes  of  war. 
That  was  only  their  pretext.  They  belonged  to  that  class  of 
adventurers  who  were  known  to  the  patriots  as  Florida  Refu 
gees.  This  implied  that  they  were  loyal  Americans,  who  had 
emerged  from  Florida  so  soon  as  the  British  ascendency  had 
been  established  in  Carolina.  The  latter  province  was  overrun 
by  thousands  of  these  marauders,  after  this  event,  who  had 
never  before  set  eyes  upon  her  plains.  Florida,  it  will  be  kept 
in  mind,  was  the  usual  place  of  refuge  for  the  loyfi/i.sftt  of  the 
wliolc  South,  on  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution,  and  daring 
the  period  of  whig  success;  even  as  Canada  afforded  a  region 
of  retreat  for  all  of  the  same  class  of  politicians  in  the  northern 
colonies. 

War  then  —  the  cause  of  the  crown  —  was  simply  a  pretext 
with  these  marauders.  They  were  nothing  less  than  plunderers 
under  the  sanction  of  the  war.  Sometimes  they  joined  them 
selves  to  the  regular  service,  and  were  employed  as  scouts  and 
rangers.  But  this  they  found  too  hard  a  service.  They  were 
then,  really  the  menials  of  the  regular  army,  and  they  revolted 
at  the  servitude ;  using  the  connection  only  when  it  might  be 
thought  necessary  to  countenance  or  shelter  their  excesses. 
They  followed  a  chief,  so  long  as  he  proved  successful,  and 
shared  his  spoils  freely  among  them  ;  frequently  deposed  him  ; 
threw  off  his  rule  for  that  of  another;  and,  sometimes,  merged 
their  independent  existence  (measurably)  in  that  of  superioi 
bands.  But  they  changed  nothing  of  their  nature  in  the  change 


li:  EITIAVV. 

of  service,  and  were  only  so  many  rude  banditti  always.  Th'S 
much  will  suffice  for  their  morals;  of  their  manners,  they  shall 
report  themselves. 

A  rude  cookery  was  begun  soon  after  their  entrance.  Tw? 
of  the  party  took  this  duty  upon  themselves  as  if  it  were  their 
ordinary  occupation  :  soon,  the  corn  hoe-cakes  were  browning 
before  the  fire ;  >  raat  slices  of  bacon  were  hissing  in  the  frying 
pan,  and  a  pot  of  co£fce  v/aa  set  to  boil.  But,  for  these  comforts 
of  the  kitchen,  nc  .110  waited.  A  corpulent  jug  of  whiskey 
was  already  in  requisition,  and,  following  the  lead  of  Captain 
Lem  Watkins,  the  troopers  successively  quaffed  deeply  of  its 
potent  waters. 

Then  came  the  supper.  They  ate,  they  drank  —  freely,  with 
something  of  the  appetite  of  famishing  men.  There  was  little 
talk  among  the  party  the  while,  except  such  as  took  place  with 
small  groups,  who,  for  this  purpose  seemingly,  occasionally  left 
the  house,  and  went  out  into  the  thicket.  There  was  an  influ 
ence  at  work  among  them,  not  depressing  exactly,  but  one  of  $. 
sort  to  make  them  reserved  —  perhaps  sullen  —  at  all  events 
mostly  silent.  Words  were  spoken,  as  if  not  calling  for  answer 
Those  who  spoke,  with  the  hope  of  amusing  the  company,  or 
provoking  response,  were  rarely  successful  —  never,  certainly, 
in  the  former  object.  Occasionally,  the  chief  let  fall  something 
that  might  have  been  designed  for  a  jest  or  a  sarcasm ;  but  the 
humor  did  not  spread.  If  honored  with  a  chuckle,  it  was  but 
of  momentary  duration  and  the  result  only  of  some  little  effort 
It  was  a  lugubrious  feast,  such  as  one  might  be  supposed  to 
make  the  night  before  his  execution.  There  was  no  song  over 
the  supper.  The  stillness  of  the  group  suffered  them  all  dis 
tinctly  to  hear,  at  intervals,  the  protracted  whoop  of  the  owl 
without,  who  noted  the  watches  of  the  night,  by  becoming  sig 
nals,  from  the  ancient  millhouse. 

It  might  be  seen  that  one  of  the  party  did  not  eat.  It  was 
observed,  finally,  by  his  companions,  toward  the  close  of  supper 

"  How  no\\r,  Mat  Floyd,"  said  Nat  Snell,  turning  to  this 
person  where  he  sat  aloof  in  a  corner —  'what  if  you  air  in 
trouble?  Eat,  man,  there's  no  trouble  in  the  pot" 

"Ay,  let  him  eat;  loose  him  awhile  and  let  him  eat,"  quoth 
Captain  Watkins  ;  "  we  don't  want  to  put  him  on  his  trial  on  an 


THE    FLORIDA   REFUGEES.  13 

\6  i  ty  stomach  Loose  him,  Snell,  and  give  him  a  bite.  It 
hUui'ivt  bo  said  that  we  starve  a  fellow  even  though  we  have  to 
,:ian^  him  after  supper!" 

Snell  did  as  he  was  commanded,  and  proceeded  to  undo  the 
cords  whi  ih  hound  the  person  addressed,  taking  an  opportunity, 
sis  he  did  so;  t«  whisper  in  his  ear. 

Seize  your  fiance,  Mat,  and  git  off  if  you  kin !" 

The  other  sat  quiet,  stupidly  it  would  seem,  rather  than 
f:l'omily;  and  showed  no  disposition  to  rise  from  the  floor, 
'.veil  when  loosed  from  his  bonds.  He  indicated  no  desire  for 

ripper, 

"  What  1  won't  he  eat  ?"  demanded  the  captain,  with  an  oath, 

"  1  hen  lot  him  starve,  and  be  d d,  for  a  sulky  fool,  as  well 

^  a  trc.vjiiu'oiis  rascal.  He  was  both  always.  What  do  I  care 
!.'  h-';  sats  or  not !" 

'   Gfivs  Inm  time,  captain,  to  consider,*'  said  the  friendly  fol- 
:  ••<.]  Sneli. 

and  for  his  prayers  too !     But  the  sooner  he's  about 
e  better.     Let  him  have  an  hour,  and  then  sec  that  he's 
roj-e-d  up  for  other  matters.     Only  see  that  he  don't  slip  out. 
Put  a  hitch  in  the  door." 

'It's  past  hitching,"  was  the  answer,  as  one  of  the  party 
endeavored  to  fit  the  unwieldy  leaf  of  the  door  to  the  posts  in 
sl>ite  of  broken  hinges.  "  There's  nara  hinge  left,  and  not  a 
staple  to  hook  to." 

"  Well,  fix  it  as  you  can,  and  keep  an  eye  on  the  rascal.  See 
'*)  him,  Snell,  You  shall  be  jailer." 

1  I'd  rather  you'd  put  somebody  else  that's  more  spry  than 
rue,  cappin.  I'm  a  leetle  oneasy  in  the  j'ints  with  this  bloody 
•vheumatiz,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  you  take  charge  of  him,  Peterson,  and  if  he's  not 

here,  the  moment  we  want  him,  you  take  his  place,  that's 

-.11 !     Lc  ?k  co  it !     And  now  clean  off  the  table,  men.     We've 

git  er.r  settlements  to  make,  and  square  off  the  business  of  this 

.t-.st  .:.-.H /~r>iig'u,     I  don't  want  to  keep  any  shares  but  my  own ; 

mid  v.  "•  '      t.io  .  aymaster  of  the  squad  plays  traitor,  and  makes 

off  with  the  chest,  I  reckon  there's  few  of  you  that  wouldn't 

rather  keep  li;?  own  money.     It's  not  so  much,  the  matter  that'e 

°>ft  v.s  now  to  tivi.le      But  we'll  take  our  satisfaction,  I  reckon, 


J.4  EDTAW. 

out  of  one  of  the  rascals.  Gather  round,  all  of  you,  and  see  if 
we  do  what's  right.  There,  Watts,  heave  up  that  portmanteau, 
and  that  sack." 

The  portmanteau  and  sack  were  laid  upon  the  table,  opened 
both,  and  the  contents  turned  out  before  all  eyes.  They  were 
of  a  character  to  show  what  sort  of  war  was  that  waged  by  our 
forayers.  There  was  money,  some  few  pieces  of  gold,  a  con 
siderable  amount  in  Spanish  dollars,  and  a  few  handfuls  of 
crowns,  pistareens,  and  shilling  pieces.  There  were  rolls  also 
of  continental  money,  but  these  seemed  to  command  little 
attention.  The  more  valuable  contents  of  valise  and  sack, 
were  trinkets  of  gold,  watches,  and  plate  of  various  description 
—  a  general  assortment  of  plunder,  as  yielded  to  the  outlaws, 
by  the  person  or  the  dwelling  of  the  defenceless.  How  much 
blood  had  been  shed  in  procuring  this  spoil  —  how  many  dying 
curses  lay  upon  these  ill-gotten  treasures  —  who  shall  declare  ? 

The  division  of  the  spoil  was  made  —  how,  we  shall  not  say, 
but,  no  doubt,  under  laws  to  which  all  parties  had  given  their 
consent.  It  is  not  so  certain  that  the  division  was  satisfactory 
to  all.  The  several  shares  were  received,  most  generally,  in 
profound  silence ;  the  captain  tendering  as  he  thought  proper ; 
the  subordinate  receiving  what  was  given  without  a  word.  In 
some  instances,  a  wish  was  expressed  for  gold,  rather  than  sil 
ver  ;  in  one  case,  a  watch  was  desired  by  one  of  the  parties, 
whose  share  did  not  amount  to  the  value  put  upon  the  article ; 
and  the  captain  was  gracious  enough  to  promise  to  keep  the 
watch  until  his  profits  should  enable  the  craving  man  to  pur 
chase  his  treasure.  There  were  eyes  that  gloated  over  articles, 
for  which  they  could  make  no  demand,  and  which  they  beheld 
the  amiable  captain  put  aside,  with  a  considerate  regard  to  his 
own —  which  was,  of  course,  the  lion's  —  share  !  But  there  was 
no  expression  of  discontent.  The  continental  bills,  were  very 
liberally  bestowed.  In  fact,  the  parties  helped  themselves  at 
pleasure ;  though  some  few  turned  from  the  proffer  with  open 
scorn,  refusing  to  burden  themselves  with  a  commodity,  which 
had  depreciated  to  a  value  scarcely  superior  to  that  of  waste 
paper. 

"  A   drink  all   round,  fellows,"  said   the  accommodatin      sue.' 


THE    FLORIDA    REFUGEES.  15 

iat  scjre's  all  rubbed  out,  and  I  hope  you're  all  satisfied  ! 
You'll  not  say,  no  one  of  you,  that  I  don't  deal  fair  and  square 
with  you.  If  there's  a  man  to  say  so,  let  him  up,  and  out  with 
it,  and  look  me  in  the  face  all  the  time !  Out  with  it  at  once, 
I  say,  and  no  afterclaps !  I  won't  understand  any  man  that 
wants  to  open  the  accounts  again  to-morrow.  I'd  answer  such 
a  man  with  a  broadsword  wipe,  as  soon  as  look  at  him  !  So, 
out  with  it  now  f  Is  any  one  dissatisfied,  I  ask  ?" 

The  glance  round  the  circle,  and  the  action  which  accom 
panied  this  speech,  the  tones  of  voice,  the  whole  manner  of  the 
thing,  was  pretty  much  such  as  would  be  shown  by  a  savage 
bulldog,  walking  off  with  your  meat,  and  growling,  right  and 
left  among  the  crowd,  as  he  departs !  The  experience  of  the 
subordinates  had  been  such  as  naturally  prompted  them  to  the 
full  appreciation  of  Dogberry's  counsel,  for  the  treatment  of 
refractory  persons,  offenders  against  the  law.  No  voice  was 
raised  in  doubt  of  the  perfect  justice  with  which  Captain  Lem 
Watkins  had  made  the  division  of  the  public  treasure. 

"Very  good!"  exclaimed  our  amiable  bulldog,  "I  want  all 
my  people  to  bo  satisfied.  Now,  I  say,  let's  have  that  drink 
all  round.  Hand  up  the  whiskey,  Fritz.  I  wish  it  was  Jamaica 
for  your  sakes,  fellows.  You  deserve  something  better." 

The  benevolent  wish  called  for  the  most  amiable  echoes,  and, 
as  the  party  drank  10  the  favorite  toast  of  the  captain : — 

"  Here's  to  the  cow,  boys,  that  never  goes  dry." 

They  almost  forgot,  in  their  potations,  that  any  one  of  them 
had  the  slightest  reason  to  complain.  Strong  drink  is  pacifica 
tion  as  well  as  provocation. 

They  drank  deep,  and  were  comforted  —  after  a  fashion  ! 

There  was  a  pause.  Captain  Watkins  was  not  the  person  t</ 
relish  a  pause,  or  silence,  except  in  such  hours  as  he  gave  to 
sleep. 

"  And  now,  fellows,"  quoth  he,  "  there  is  business  to  be  done 
—  pretty  serious  business  too,  as  you  all  know;  but,  there  is 
sport,  also ;  and  whether  we  shall  go  to  business  or  to  sport 
first,  it  shall  be  for  you  to  say !  No  doubt,  some  among  you 
would  like  to  be  adding  to  his  wallet  by  what  there  is  in  mine; 
and  I'm  ready  !  By  the  powers,  I  am  as  willing  to  lose  as  win. 
You  know  that,  and  there  are  the  pictures !  Out  with  them 


16  EUTAW. 

from  the  wallet,  Peterson,  and  l-3t  *V°m         Lanu.y.     You 
play  or  work,  which  you  please.     We  must  try  thai   traitor  t 
night,  and  give  him  what  justice  he  deserves.     But  that  won  t 
take  us  long.     *  A  short  horse  is  soon  curried,'  and  three  yards 
of  rope  will  halter  the  longest  rascal,  that  ever  foundered  under 
an  easy  burden.     What  shall  it  be  —  the  cards  or  the  trial  firet' 
the  old  rogue  or  old  sledge  ?" 

"  Oh  !  the  trial !  Let's  have  that  off  our  minds  before  A.  e 
think  of  sport.  I  want  to  have  a  free  sperm  when  I  go  to  play 
I  don't  want  any  trouble  in  my  thought." 

"  Right,  Hollis  !  That's  just  my  notion.  So,  boys,  throw 
on  some  fresh  lightwood.  Let's  have  a  good  blaze  to  see  by, 
and  bring  up  the  prisoner.  Put  him  there,  at  the  foot  of  the 
table,  and  get  round  him.  We'll  have  short  work  of  it,  I 
reckon." 

"  Yes,  the  case  is  mighty  clear.  Get  up,  Mat,  and  answer  foi 
yourself.  Square  round,  boys,  and  make  room.  Let's  hear  the 
captain." 

The  culprit  was  hustled  forward.  The  ropes  were  again 
wound  about  his  wrists,  which  were  tied  behind  him  ;  and  he 
stood,  at  once  sullen  and  anxious,  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 
The  foray ers  grouped  themselves  around  him ;  a  hardy,  reck  • 
less,  unfeeling  company,  in  whose  faces  you  could  detect  few 
traces  of  sympathy.  There  was  one  of  them,  there  might  be- 
two,  whose  eyes  betokened  something  of  pity  ;  the  fellow,  Sncll, 
who  had  whispered  the  captive  to  tteal  off  if  lie  could,  was  one 
of  these  ;  but  he  strove  naturally  to  conceal  a  sympathy  which, 
if  discovered,  might  only, have  brought  down  danger  upon  his 
own  head. 

The  lightwood  blazed  up  brightly,  illuminating  the  apart 
ment.  Captain  Lem  was  accommodated  will'  a  seat  upon  H 
high,  but  rickety  bench,  one  of  t'le  legs  of  which  indicated 
extreme  decrepitude.  The  captain  put  on  all  his  gravity,  as  he 
began  to  state  the  charges  to  the  culprit  and  his  audience,  which 
he  did  in  the  following  language.  We  omit  little  bui  the  decora 
tivc  blasphemies  of  the  speaker,  witli  whom  an  oath  supplied 
the  lack  of  metaphor  and  figure. 

"Hold  up  your  hands,  Mat  Kloyd,  and  if  you  hold  n.p  y.r:r 
Head  at  the  same  time,  !i  'vn!  !•«•  no  worn  F«*r  you." 


THE   FLC;-!.7*    UEFUGFiKS.  17 

The  culprit  raised  liis  head  prc.mptly,  and  looked  his  jvAr* 
full  in  the  face.  Floyd  was  a  young  fellow  not  more  than 
twenty-three  years  of  age,  small  and  slight  of  person,  swarthy 
of  skin,  with  a  dark,  scowling  and  sullen  aspect,  ana  keen,  but 
small  black  eyes.  There  was  something  at  once  sinister  and 
savage  in  his  countenance. 

"  Now,  Mat  Floyd,  you  know  juct  as  well  as  we,  do  what  we 
have  against  you.  You're  the  brother-in-law  of  Nat  Rhodes  — 
ho  married  your  sister." 

"  But  he  didn't  marry  me  /"  answered  th&  ether  quickly  and 
savagely. 

"Don't  be  sassy,  boy,"  said  old  Suell,  intorposb. g  —  "don't 
be  sassy ;  give  the  cappin  good  words,  and  hear  him  cut  what 
he's  got  to  say." 

"  Let  him  talk,  Snell,"  said  the  captain  very  coolly  — '  I  like 
when  a  fellow  talks  out  on  his  own  trial.  It's  just  ten  to  one 
that  he'll  let  out  a  leetle  more  of  the  truth  than  will  do  him 
good.  Let  him  talk  and  answer  for  himself,  just  as  he  thinks 
proper.  It's  the  truth  we  want. -r- Now,  as  I  was  saying,  Mat 
Floyd,  you're  brother-in-law  to  Nat  Rhodes,  and  Nat  Rhodes 
has  just  made  off  with  the  money  portmanteau  of  the  squad." 

"  But  I  hain't  run  off,  and  I  hain't  no  money.  If  that's  what 
you're  after,  s'arch  me ." 

"  Search  you !  as  if  you'd  hide  your  robheries  about  you ! 
But  it  wasn't  any  honesty  in  you,  that  kept  you  from  running 
off.  Where  were  you  caught,  you  scoundrel  ?  Five  miles  from 
camp,  and  streeking  it,  fast  as  your  mare  could  carry  you ;  and 
just  on  the  road  where  he  was  seen  last/' 

"  I  don't  see  because  I  was  a-riding  down,  that  I  was  a-run- 
ning  off,"  said  the  culprit. 

"No!  But  it  was  a  monstrous  suspicious  circumstance,  I'm 
thinking.  But  that's  not  all.  You  had  a  watch  —  'twas  seen 
upon  your  person,  and  you  afterward  gave  it  to  your  sister. 
Harricane  Nell,  to  keep  for  you  ;  and  that  watch  belonged  tc 
the  squad,  and  was  a  part  of  the  stock  left  in  the  portmanteau 
when  Nat  Rhodes  carried  it." 

"Nat  gave  it  to  me  !  'Twas  his  watch.  He  get  it  himself 
by  himself.  'T wasn't  any  of  the  squad's  property.  'Twas  hid 
own  property.' 


1.8  EUTAW. 

'•'  Ah  !  you  say  GO  ;  but  'twon't  serve  you,  Mat  Floyd,  though 
you  were  to  swear  it.  We'll  lot  you  know  that  everything  we 
take  belongs  to  the  euaad,  till  it's  divided  by  me,  the  captain. 
Isn't  that  the  law,  fellows  ?" 

"  Ay  !   ay  !  capp'iv,  true  as  gospel." 

<4  You  hear  th;*'  Mat  Floyd.  The  watch  was  the  property 
of  the  squad,  &  -A  everything,  till  wa  had  a  fair  division  of 
shares.  But  Nat  Rhodes  never  gave  you  that  watch  till  he 
was  making  off;  and  you  knew  of  his  going  off  and  never  re 
ported  ;  and  your  sister,  Hurricane  Nell,  knew  of  it,  and  his 
father,  Jeff  Hhodes  the  miller,  knew  of  it,  and  so  did  Clem 
Wilson,  and  Barney  Gibbes,  and  John  Friday ;  and  they've 
gone  off  with  him  or  after  him,  and  you  were  gone  too,  as  far 
as  you  could  get  bs^ro  we  caught  you.  Now,  this  Avas  a 
conspiracy,  do  you  see,  as  well  as  a  robbery,  and  I'll  let 
you  know  that  conspiracy  and  robbery  together,  makes  high 
treason-  — high  treason!  —  do  you  hear?  and  that's  the  of 
fence,  Mat  Floyd,  for  which  you're  up  on  trial  at  this  awful 
moment.  So. now  you  hear  the  charges  against  you,  and  the 
nature  of  the  offence ;  and  the  penalty  is  death  by  the  rope  ! 
So,  even  answer  for  yourself  as  you  can.  We've  got  the  proof 
here  present,  to  prove  what  we  say  :  let's  know  what  proof  you 
have  to  answer  it.  Speak  out,  like  a  brave  fellow,  if  you  can't 
like  an  honest  one,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  before  we 
tuck  you  up." 

'!  I'm  in  your  hands,"  said  Floyd  boldly,  looking  full  at  his 
judge,  "  and  I  know  that  you've  got  the  power  to  do  what  you 
please  with  me." 

"I  rather  think  we  have!"  said  the  captain,  "and  we'll  do 
'i  too!" 

"  That's  as  God  pleases  !" 

"Don't  be  taking  God's  name  in  vain,  you  bloody  blasphe- 
he  ''  responded  the  reverent  captain  —  "speak  about  what 
y.)M  know." 

"  I  Know  that  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  most  bloody  villain,  ami 
•f  I  am  to  speak,  ,ii;a  to  suffer  nfrer  it,  I'll  let  out  all  that's  on 
niv  mind  for  the  b;>r.*;fit  of  them  that,  ain't  <rot  the  soul  and  the 
^..rrrit  to  think  and  to  spi"ik  out  fur  themselves!" 

"  Juyt  hear  the  audacious  jelid  !"   <  ^claimed   the  captain,  ac 


THE    FLORIDA    REFUGEES.  19 

taaliy  confounded  by  the  recklessness  of  the-  speaker.     "  Jus" 
hear  his  sauce  and  insolence  !" 

"Ay,  let  them  hear,  Cappin  Watkius  I  want  them  to  hea' 
There's  some  of  them  that  would  like  tc  ^ay  the  same  thin^  e 
they  darst,  and  all  of  'em  that  knows  it's  only  the  truth  tha; 
I'm  a-saying.  I  say,  and  I  say  it  again  that  you're  a  most 
bloody  tyrant  and  villain,  and  that  'taint  my  robbery  .AS  yaa 
calls  it  —  which  was  only  a  taking  of  my  :»Tvrn-  — but  other  things 
which  you  darsn't  say  out,  or  charge  agin  me.  that  makes  yor 
so  hot  after  taking  my  life.  As  for  the  dividing  the  treasure, 
it's  a  pretty  division  of  shares  that  you  ever  makes.  Sich  a 
division,  as,  ef  justice  was  done,  would  put  the  rope  round  your 
neck  instead  of  mine,  and  make  yo*i  answerable  for  a  thousar-i 
more  criminalities  than  you'll  ever  •  \f'e?'s  onder  the  gallows  " 

"  Will  nobody  stop  the  beast's  mouth  "    i-oarscl  the  captain 

"  Shet  up,  Mat,"  said  Snell,  once  more.  '.;•-' jn't  provocate 
the  cappiu  without  needcessity.  'Twill  only  make  the  case 
worse  for  you,  this  talking." 

"  No  !  it  kain't !  Ef  I  was  to  say  nothing,  he'd  hev'  my  life 
jest  the  same ;  jest  so  long  as  you  here,  you  poor,  mean,  cow 
ardly  critters,  that  let  yourselves  be  robbed  and  cheated  with 
your  eyes  open — jest  so  long  as  you'd  stand  by,  and  see  one 
man  put  down  —  one  by  one  —  whenever  he  happens  to  stand 
up  for  his  own  rights  along  with  your'n.  'Tis  true,  I  was 
a-making  off,  bekaise  I  was  only  too  eager  to  git  out  of  sieh 
hands  as  his'n  and  your'n !  It's  true  that  Nat  Rhodes  made 
off  with  the  money ;  but  'twas  only  bekaise  'twas  the  natural 
right  of  him.  and  Jeff  Rhodes,  his  father,  and  Moll  Rhodes,  his 
wife,  and  Nell,  my  sister,  and  my  right,  and  the  right  of  Clem 
Wilson,  and  Barney  Gibbes,  and  John  Friday !  We  fcuk  bii;: 
what  was  our  own ;  and  the  rest  we  hid  away,  near  to  you, 
meaning  to  send  you  word  where  to  look  for  it ;  so  that  every 
man  might  hev'  his  proper  share.  And  we  did  conspirate,  e.;" 
eo  be  that  agreeing  together  means,  conspirating  —  to  do  as  w 
did,  and  to  make  off  where  we  couid  never  hev'  to  do  witb 
sich  as  you  any  more !  And  that's  the  trath  of  the  matter, 
though  you  never  listened  to  the  truth  before,  So  uovr  you'v* 
hearn  it,  you  may  jest  do  J f  vv  «t  you  liii.  I'm  in  y.-a* 
power." 


20  EUTAW. 

"That's  true,  at  all  events,  Mat  Floyd,"  responded  the  cap 
tain  with  unexampled  coolness.  The  company,  meanwhile, 
maintained  a  singular  silence,  if  not  composure.  They  did  not 
seem  so  much  offended  by  the  free  speech  of  their  bold  com 
panion.  Its  truth  appealed  to  their  sympathies,  though  it  could 
not  rouse  their  courage ;  and,  in  all  probability,  there  was  a 
lurking  conviction,  in  the  minds  of  most  of  them,  that  Mat  Floyd 
was  a  sort  of  martyr  in  the  common  cause.  Besides,  heroism, 
itself,  at  such  a  moment,  under  such  circumstances  as  those  in 
which  Floyd  stood,  was  well  calculated  to  impress  itself  even 
upon  the  rough,  unscrupulous  wretches  by  which  he  was  sur 
rounded.  It  is  barely  possible  that  the  captain,  himself,  felt 
something  of  this  influence ;  though  it  is  just  a,s  likely  that  his 
forbearance,  and  the  speech  with  which  he  answered  the  culprit, 
was  dictated  quite  as  much  by  policy  as  by  admiration. 

"  Well,  Mat  Floyd,"  resumed  the  captain,  "  you've  made  your 
defence,  such  as  it  is  ;  and  proved  the  case  against  yourself,  as 
well  as  we  could  have  done  it  with  a  hundred  witnesses.  You've 
had  your  say,  and  can't  complain  that  we've  put  bolt  and  bar 
uj  on  your  tongue.  You've  made  free  enough  with  me ;  but 
that  I  don't  take  into  the  account  at  all ;  for  we  can  settle  with 
you  on  other  grounds.  Only,  I'd  like  to  hear,  before  going  far 
ther  with  you,  if  there's  any  present,  as  you  would  seem  to 
think  there  is,  who  has  the  audacity  'to  think  as  you  do  !  I  am 
waiting  to  hear  if  there's  another  person  here,  who  accuses  me 

of  tyranny  and  injustice  !  Let  him  speak !  By !  I  am 

waiting  patiently — very  d d  patiently!  —  Only  let  him 

speak !" 

And  he  smote  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  his  eye  glared  about 
the  circle,  from  face  to  face,  illustrating,  somewhat  anomalously, 
his  meekness  of  mood,  and  the  patience  with  which  he  craved 
their  responses. 

The  eye  of  the  culprit  looked  round  the  circle  also,  but  not 
with  hope.  A  smile  was  on  his  countenance  as  he  gazed,  ex 
pressing  only  a  sullen  scorn.  He  knew  them  well ;  and  well 
knew  what  would  be  the  effect  of  their  captain's  pacific  appeal, 
upon  a  gang  which  lacked  all  the  elements  of  a  proper  resist 
ance  to  a  tyranny  which  yet  revolted  them. 

"You  see,  Mat  Floyd!"  resumed  the  captain,  turning  to  the 


THE   FLORIDA    REFUGEES.  21 

culprit ;  "  there's  not  an  honest  man  present  who  is  not  ready 
to  give  the  lie  to  your  assertion." 

"  There's  not  an  honest  man  that  dar'st  do  so,  onless  he's 
hot  a'ter  h — 1's  brimstone  !"  was  the  retort. 

"  Silence,  you  blaspheming  rebel,  and  answer  to  what  I'm 
about  to  ask  you  !  You  say  that  the  rightful  share  of  the  squad 
has  been  put  away  hereabouts,  somewhere,  for  us,  by  the  rob 
bers  who  have  made  off  witli  the  rest  ?  Now,  if  we're  disposed 
to  look  mercifully  on  your  offences,  will  you  show  us  the  place?" 

"  Am  I  free  to  go  and  find  it  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  !  Some  of  us  will  go  along  with  yon,  just  to 
see  that  there's  no  skulking." 

"  Nobody  shall  go  with  me,  if  I'm  to  find  it !  If  you  don't 
trust  me,  I  don't  see  why  I'm  to  trust  you.  I  know  you  too 
well,  cappin.  Give  me  a  two  hours'  start,  and  you  shall  find 
it  in  the  cypress  hollow,  by  Dyke's  cabin  at  sunrise  to-morrow 
I  swear  it :  and  I'll  do  as  I  promise. 

"  Your  word  for  it ;  and  that's  a  pretty  security  !" 

"  Yes,  and  a  cussed  sight  better  than  your  oath !" 

"  You  lying  villain  !  —  " 

"  Lying !  Look  you,  Oappin  Watkins,  there's  not  a  man 
hyar  that  don't  know  you  to  be  the  lyingest  person  that  ever 
stept  in  shoeleather;  and,  jest  knowing  you  as  I  do,  I  know 
its  no  more  use  to  be  making  a  bargain  with  you,  or  taking  a 
promise  from  your  mouth,  than  ef  'twas  the  old  devil  himself 
that  was  a-speaking,  and  now,  jest  to  ease  my  heart  of  what 
I've  got  in  it,  I'll  tell  the  men  here,  loud  enough  for  the  hardest 
hearing  to  onderstand,  that  if  my  sister  Nelly  had  only  listened 
to  your  imperdent  speeches,  and  hadn't  slapped  your  chops 
while  you  was  a  making  'em-^ske  and  I  might  ha'  got  the  whole 
of  the  portmanteau  of  the  squad,  and  I'd  never  heard  a  word 
of  the  gold  watch  that  she  got,  and  I'd  never  ha'  been  in  the 
present  fix!  I  say  it  —  agin  and  agin  —  that  the  cappin  here 
offered  her  everything  in  the  treasury  —  yes  —  ef  she'd " 

"  Silence,  you  d d  ^blasted  liar  of  a  traitor  and  rebel," 

roared  the  captain,  as,  stretching  across  the  table,  he  smote  the 
speaker  in  the  face  with  his  clenched  hand,  the  blood  gushing 
from  mouth  and  nostrils  at  the  blow. 

In  an  instant,  the  culprit,  though  with  both  hands  bound  b^- 


99 


EUTAW. 


hind  him,  with  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  muscle,  leaped  upon 
the  table,  and  answered  the  assault  by  two  formidable  kicks  of 
the  foot,  heavily  shod,  which,  delivered  before  the  captain  could 
recover  from  the  forward  movement  he  had  made  in  striking, 
hurled  him  back  from  the  table  against  the  fireplace,  his  whole 
face  blacked,  bruised,  and  bloodied,  by  the  sharp  and  stunning 
blows  ! 

The  table  came  down  with  a  crash  in  the  struggle;  and,  as  it 
fell,  the  culprit  bounded  away  toward  the  door,  which  he  cer 
tainly  would  have  reached,  and  through  which  he  would  prob 
ably  have  escaped  —  for  there  were  some  present  not  indis 
posed  to  favor  his  flight  —  had  not  his  hands  and  arms  been 
securely  fastened  behind  him. 

Before  he  could  take  a  second  stride  toward  the  door,  how 
ever,  a  blow  of  a  cudgel  from  behind,  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the 
ruffians  felled  him  to  the  floor,  while  two  or  three  others  sprang 
upon  him. 

All  was  in  confusion  for  a  while.  Several  were  scuffling  over 
tho,  prostrate  man;  some  shouted  aloud  —  whether  in  hope,  01 
fear,  we  can  not  say  —  supposing  him  gone;  and,  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  all  order,  all  authority  was  at  an  end. 

Captain  Watkins  was  the  first  to  recover  his  wits  if  not  his 
placidity  of  look  and  temper.  He  recov^sd  his  legs  with  dif 
ficulty. 

"  Have  you  got  him  there,  fellow*  *' 

"Yes  —  fast  enough,"  was  the  answ^i. 

"  You  see  !  but  one  thiiig's  to  'o  3  l.^ne  !  It's  mutiny,  as  well 
as  high  treason  and  robbery  !  'lYk  •>  him  oit ,  to  the  old  mill- 
house.  We'll  have  an  end  of  ij  no-;-;  i  Your  ~ord,  Fritz!  Out 
with  him,  1  any  —  no  poking— *— no  prevarication;  and  let  me 
see  if  there's  more  ill  an  one  candidate  L>night  for  the  gallows  ! 
Off  with  him  !  It's  not  five  minutes  he>.  get  to  swear  bjr." 

He  drew  his  sabre  as  he  spoke,  a "<d  Trayr.rl  forward  th-,  pirty 
Three  of  the  fellows  grappled  with  the  still  prostrate  cnl;rit 
raised  hirn  up  and  bade  him  walk.  Ent  he  on  y  staggered  for 
ward,  with  a  grasp  of  a  stout  ruffian  on  each  shoulder,  the  whole 
party  surrounding  th*,  three,  and  the  captain  following  with 
ready  weapon. 


'•'HABBICANE    NELL."  23 


CHAPTER    III, 

"  HARRICANE    NELL.1' 

TUB  prisoner,  wholly  unresisting,  was  thrust  forward  by  the 
hvo  ruffians  in  whose  grasp  he  stood,  followed  closely  by  the 
vindictive  captain  of  the  party,  his  sword  drawn  in  one  hand, 
and  a  pistol  concealed  beside  him  in  the  other  The  troop  fol 
lowed  on,  or  led  the  way  for  the  culprit. 

The  old  millhouse  stood  not  more  than  fifty  yards  from  the 
cabin  which  they  had  left,  and  a  few  moments  sufficed  to  bring 
the  party  to  the  place  which  was  destined  for  the  execution. 
The  procession  was  conducted  in  deep  silence,  only  broken  by 
an  occasional  muttering,  in  oath  and  threat,  from  the  lips  of 
Watkins.  He  knew  the  tenure  by  Avhich  he  maintained  his 
rule  over  his  refugees ;  and  the  reckless  and  wild  spirit  of  defi 
ance  exhibited  by  Floyd  Avas  in  proof  of  the  presence  of  feel 
ings,  among  the  rest,  which,  however  unspoken  as  yet,  he  had 
every  reason  to  apprehend.  Nay,  the  flight  of  his  treasurer, 
Rhodes,  and  the  small  party  which  followed  or  accompanied 
him  was  conclusive  of  a  discontent  in  the  squadron,  which  only 
needed  a  bold  leader  to  rouse  up  into  mutiny  among  the  whole. 
Watkins  was  prepared  to  believe  that  it  would  require  more 
:han  the  one  victim  to  quiet,  in  season,  the  growth  of  this  insub 
ordinate  spirit;  and  he  kept  eager  watch  upon  the  party  —  re 
jolved,  with  the  first  provocation  from  any  other  quarter,  to 
aake  a  prompt  example  of  the  offender. 

It  is  probable  enough  that  the  troop,  all  of  them,  felt  instinct 
ively  what  was  working  in  the  rmnd  of  their  captain.  They 
knew  that,  if  he  was  a  rascal,  he  was  not  less  a  reckless  ruffian, 
.vho  would  not  scruple  at  any  violence ;  a.id  they  were,  none 


24  EDI  AW.  m 

of  them,  quite  prepared  to  bring  their  discontents  to  a  suddeii 
trial  of  their  respective  strength.  They  marched  over  the 
ground  quietly,  with  the  full  consciousness  that  they  were  under 
the  eye  and  arm  of  a  sudden  and  fierce  authority. 

The  savage  spirit  of  the  culprit,  too,  appeared  to  have  died 
•.-at  after  the  signal  ebullition  of  life  which  it  had  displayed. 
Whether  it  was  that  he  i-emained  under  the  stupor  occasioned 
by  the  severe  blow  which  had  stricken  him  down,  or  that  he 
felt  how  idle  would  be  any  exhibition  now,  of  either  passion  or 
apprehension,  he  was  led  docilely  to  the  place  of  execution. 
This  was  soon  reached. 

The  millhouse  was  one  of  the  ordinary  structures  used  for 
this  purpose  throughout  the  country  —  a  large,  unsightly  frame 
of  wood,  almost  wholly  unenclosed,  of  two  stories,  the  lower 
consisting  only  of  naked  supports,  the  upper  naked  also,  but 
with  a  partial  and  broken  flooring  —  the  planks  loosely  laid 
down,  here  and  there  revealing  frequent  openings,  and  offering 
everywhere  a  very  unsteady  footing.  The  ascent  to  this  sec 
ond  story  was  by  a  pile  of  refuse  slabs,  or  scantling,  the  enc.s 
of  which,  on  one  side,  rested  upon  the  earth,  and  on  the  oppo 
site  against  the  plates  of  the  second  story  —  thus  forming  an 
inclined  plane,  of  some  steepness,  the  ascent  of  which  required 
lue  painstaking  and  caution.  This  was  the  only  eligible  mode 
left  for  ascending,  unless  we  look  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
building,  where,  rising  from  the  pond,  and  with  the  ends  resting 
also  upon  the  plate  of  the  second  story,  we  may  note  a  couple 
of  huge  logs  of  ranging-timbsr,  such  as  hid  been  left  unsawed 
when  the  mill-seat  was  suddenly  atr-nc  >;:•»  o. 

The  course  taken  by  the  refugees  or/-i;,Ur  fhem,  with  the 
culprit,  to  the  pile  of  refuse  planks,  which  they  immediately  be 
gan  to  ascend.  Hitherto,  there  had  been  no  delay,  except  such 
as  was  inevitable  from  the  darkness  —  which  the  two  torches, 
borne  by  .«-:,s  many  of  the  party,  failed  to  illumine,  save  for  a 
few  paces  around  them,  and  which  left  it  necessary  that  each 
man  should  pick  his  way  with  a  proper  painstaking.  The  cul 
prit,  thus  far,  had  offered  no  resistance,  and  showed  as  little 
reluctance ;  the  stupor,  or  indifference,  with  which  he  began  the 
march,  appearing  to  continue.  But,  when  he  was  midway  up 
the  steep  plane  of  tottering  planks,  there  was  a  struggle,  under 


"HARRICANE   NELL."  25 

the  unwieldy  pile  swayed,  and  shook,  and  groaned,  as  if 
about  to  sink  down  in  the  middle,  and  fall  together,  in  a  heap 
This  was  in  consequence  of  a  desperate  effort  of  the  prisoner, 
very  suddenly  made,  at  a  moment  when  the  plank  was  over- 
croAvded.  The  fellow,  rendered  cool  and  vigilant  by  a  consid 
erable  ruffian  experience,  had  been  economizing  his  strength 
and  temper  for  the  first  favorable  moment.  And  he  was  as 
strong  as  he  was  resolute,  with  a  wonderful  wiry  muscle,  as  we 
may  suppose,  from  its  sudden  exhibition  when  he  made  his 
heels  return  the  indignity,  in  the  face  .of  his  captain,  which  the 
fists  of  the  other  had  inflicted  upon  his  own. 

He  had  timed  his  purpose  well ;  and,  could  he  have  succeeded 
in  throwing  off  the  grasp  of  the  two  stout  fellows  who  had  him 
by  the  shoulder  —  a  performance  which  he  would  most  probably 
have  achieved  had  his  arms  been  free  —  his  chances  of  escape 
were  good.  His  plan  was,  once  relieved  of  their  grasp,  to  leap 
out  boldly,  headlong  into  the  darkness  —  from  this  place,  out 
into  the  swamp ;  well  knoAving  that,  if  he  escaped  any  evil  in 
tlj<e  leap,  he  could  easily  elude  pursuit  under  the  circumstances. 
All  the  torches  of  the  party,  by  night,  would  have  availed  the 
pursuers  but  little  in  such  Avild  and  dismal  recesses.  Mat  Floyd 
knew  the  situation  well.  The  mill  had  been  established  by  old 
Rhodes ;  had  been  managed  by  Nat  Rhodes,  who  had  married 
the  sister  of  the  culprit ;  and  he  had  played,  and  leaped,  and 
gambolled,  a  thousand  times,  among  its  slopes  and  holloAvs,  over 
its  causeway,  and  among  its  coves,  and  banks,  and  brambles ; 
and  he  attached  but  little  importance  to  the  mere  dangers  of  the 
leap.  Familiar  with  the  whole  locality,  he  felt  assured  that, 
unless  he  should  lucklessly  encounter  some  misplaced  log,  or 
fallen  tree,  his  descent  must  be  made  into  a  tolerably  soft  cy 
press-bottom,  in  Avhich  he  could  not  suffer  much  injury.  What 
ever  the  risk,  the  poor  fellow  Avas  inclined  to  take  it,  if  he 
could,  and  leave  his  chances  of  escape  to  fortune,  to  the  shelter 
ing  darkness,  and  to  his  own  experience  of  the  thousand  har 
boring  intricacies  of  such  a  region  :  any  prospect  Avas  preferable 
to  the  one  before  him  He  knew  that  he  was  doomed  other' 

But  the  effort,  though  vigorously  made,  was  fruitless.  His 
tettereJ  ^rms  —the  iiiir  grasp  of  the  two  men  who  held  him  — 


26  EDTAW. 

defeated  the  attempt;  though  the  whole  scaffolding  upon  whicl. 
the  party  struggled  shook  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind,  swaying  and 
cracking  beneath  their  weight. 

Fora  moment  —  a  single  moment  —  the  brave  fellow  enter 
rained  a  hope  —  as  one  of  his  keepers  tottered  on  the  very  verg\ 
of  the  plane,  and  hung  over,  balancing  doubtfully  for  an  instant, 
of  time,  until  rescued  from  fall  by  the  help  of  another  who 
scrambled  up  behind  him  ;  but  it  was  a  breathless,  desperate  effort, 
into  Avhich  the  culprit  threw  a  degree  of  muscle  and  energy 
which  none  who  regarded  merely  the  slightness  of  his  figure 
would  ever  have  supposed  him  to  possess.  Borne  down,  aftei 
this  effort,  he  submitted  without  a  word,  and  was  hurried  up  the 
plane  without  more  resistance. 

"  Bring  up  the  torches,"  cried  the  captain  ;  "  there's  no  see 
ing  what's  to  be  done,  or  where  to  step,  Here,  this  way,  fel 
low  !  What  the  d — 1  are  you  looking  after,  down  the  millrace 
—  your  grandmother's  blessing?  You  must  look  deeper,  and 
into  a  darker  place,  if  you  would  look  for  that.  Here,  away  ! 
bring  more  lights  —  more  torches.  Let  us  see  that  the  thing's 
done  handsomely." 

And  the  lights  were  brought ;  and  the  captain  strode  boldly 
along  the  scattered  planks,  forming  the  imperfect  flooring  of  the 
place. 

"  Whoo-whoo  !  whoo-whoo  !"  screamed  the  horned  owl,  whom 
this  sudden  invasion  of  light  drove  from  his  place  of  harborage 
under  the  broken  eaves. 

"  Ay  !  be  off,  croaker !  If  he  had  stayed,  he  might  have 
served  the  purpose  of  a  parson  !  We  know  zvko,  and  you  >rili 
know,  too,  hereafter  ! — Well,  what's  it,  Murdoch  V 

"  Didn't  you  hear  a  whistle,  captain  ?" 

"No!" 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  whistle  just  below,  there,  down  upo> 
tfte  causeway  " 

"  Perhaps !  but  it  don't  matter.  You  can  be  looking  about 
you,  and  making  ready  for  what's  to  come.  Who's  to  whistle, 
think  you  ?  Some  of  these  runaways  ?  Let  them  bring  theii 
whistles  here,  if  they  would  have  their  pipes  squeezed  till  the 
wind  gave  out !  We  shall  stop  this  chap's  whistle,  at  all  events. 
fellows '" 


"HARRICAXK   NELL."  27 

It  was  now  that  the  culprit  might  have  been  heard  to  epeak 
in  lew,  hoarse,  half- apprehensive  tones  to  those  beside  him 

"  Let  iue  jump,  Snell  —  Fritz  !  That's  all  I  Jest  let  me  jump 
1  jci  won't  let  me  be  hung  for  jest  heving  my  own  rights." 

"  'Kaint  be  did,  Mat,"  was  the  whispered  answer,  "  No 
chaiuce." 

I'll  tell  you  where  to  find  the  hidings !" 

'  Well,  what  do  you  stay  for'?"  demanded  the  captain  hoaise- 
ly.  "Bring  him  up.  You  know  the  beam!  You  have  the 
rope,  Fritz  !  Quick,  and  fling  him  out !  He  wants  justice,  does 
he  1  I'll  not  sleep  to-night  till  I  see  him  kick  the  learn  /" 

C--T  aptaiii  of  refugees,  as  you  will  perceive,  was  something 
:.f  ~  iri';. 

In  spite  of  his  peremptory  orders,  there  was  still  some  little 
lingering  on  the  part  of  those  who  had  the  culprit  in  charge. 
He  still  had  time  for  other  pleadings  and  promises. 

Now,  what  might  have  been  the  disposition  to  help  him  off, 
of  Fritz  and  Snell,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conjecture.  But  it 
seems  that  Watkins  suspected  them.  Of  course,  when  Floyd 
exposed  the  captain's  dishonorable  approaches  to  the  sister, 
Nell  Floyd,  or,  as  all  parties  seemed  to  call  her,  "  Harncanc 
(the  vulgar  corruption  of  Hurricane)  Nell,"  and  when  he  ad 
ministered  the  "  shodden  foot"  to  the  face  and  dignity  of  his 
superior,  he  had  put  his  case  entirely  beyond  the  pale  of  hope 
or  mercy.  From  that  moment  he  was  doomed,  and  all  parties 
knew  it. 

Watkins  doubted  his  men  —  possibly  suspected  Fritz  and 
Snell  in  particular — was,  at  all  events,  resolved  that  his  -dctim 
should  never  escape  him.  He  said  to  two  of  the  fellows  beside 
him  : — 

"Betts —  Murdoch  —  see  to  those  fellows,  and  bring  the  ras 
cal  forward.  If  he  escapes,  mark  me,  I'll  have  it  out  of  you. 
See  to  it.  Bring  him  on.  Those  fellows  are  playing  false. 
There's  a  bribe  working." 

Betts  and  Murdoch  immediately  dashed  over  the  ricket} 
planking. 

"Who  talked  about  a  whistle?"  demanded  Watkins.  "I 
hear  one,  too. 

"And  there  goes  another,"  quoth  Ben  Tynson. 


2*  EUTAW. 

t;  Bring  him  on,  Murdoch  !"  was  the  cry  of  Watkius.  '  1  here's 
some  rascality  afoot.  Bring  him  on,  and  run  him  up.  Waste 
no  time.''' 

"Cfippin!"  cried  the  criminal,  struggling  with  the  new  mer. 
v.  ho  seized  him,  and  crying  hoarsely  — "  cappin  !" 

"  Well !  what  ?  Pitch  your  whistle  as  you  please,  scoundrel, 
it  sha'n't  save  your  neck  !  What  have  you  to  say  ?" 

To  the  surprise  of  all  parties,  the  response  of  the  culjrii 
seemed  to  be  a  jeering  one. 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  be  pitting  all  that  pile  of  silver  ani 
gould  that'«6  hid  away  ?'' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Only  that  you'd  better  pave  that,  and  let  ine  sava  my  neck 
I  wants  to  live  jest  as  long  as  God  will  let  me." 

"  God  !  you  intolerable  rebel !  God's  got  nothing  to  do  with 
such  as  you." 

"  Well,  the  devil,  then  !  Don't  matter  much  which,  so  I  clear 
the  rope  and  timber.  I'll  git  you  all  the  money  and  plate.  It's 
no  small  chance,  I  tells  you,  if  you'll  clear  the  track  for  me ! 
But,  you  must  let  me  hev'  my  heels  for  it !" 

There  might  have  been  a  moment's  pause  in  the  reply  of 
Watkins,  and  it  does  not  much  matter  what  occasioned  it  — 
whether  it  was  because  he  was  confounded  by  the  cool,  almost 
contemptuous  tones  of  the  speaker,  or  that  he  really  suffered  his 
cupidity  to  urge  the  arguments  to  his  mind,  in  spite  of  his  anger 
—  but  suddenly  he  cried  out.: — 

"  No,  rascal,  if  you  offered  me  all  the  gold  of  India,  I  would 
not  let  you  off.  Run  him  up,  Murdoch,  and  stop  his  tongue  for 
ever !  It's  one  rascal  less  in  the  world  j  one  rascal  more  in  a 
crowded  country  ;  and  we  shall  happily  get  rid  of  him  !  And 
let  every  man  present,  that's  not  altogether  in  the  right  humor 
to  toe  the  mark  with  his  friends  and  officers,  let  him  take  warn 
ing,  and  respect  the  virtue  of  the  halter ;  for,  as  sure  as  I'm  your 
captain,  and  a  living  man,  able  to  pull  trigger  or  wield  sabre,  so 
sure  will  I  serve,  with  just  the  same  sauce,  every  fellow  that 
offers  to  play  traitor!" 

The  fellows  Murdoch  and  Betts  were  more  under  the  captain's 
authority,  or  more  savage  than  the  two  who  had  previously  had 
the  culprit  in  their  keeping.  He  was  torn  away  from  between 


HAKRICASE   NELL."  29 

them  ina  moment;  ahe!*  whatever  their  feelings  in  his  favor, 
they  had  no  longer  the  power  to  indulge  them.  As  for  the  vic 
tim,  he  seemed  to  entertain  no  hopes  from  his  new  custodians 
Was  he  callous  1 

They  bore  him  onward,  beneath  the  fatal  timber,  without  re 
sistance.  The  rope  was  adjusted  to  his  throat  in  the  smallest" 
possible  space  of  time,  showing  the  parties  to  be  well  practised 
in  their  business,  and  quite  in  earnest ;  and,  as  the  torches  waved 
above  the  prisoner,  the  flame  showed  him  ready  for  the  doom , 
and  conspicuous  in  the  sight  of  all  parties. 

Some  faces  were  turned  away  ;  the  rest  were  grouped  around, 
fiilout,  if  not  sympathizing.  The  prisoner  was  erect.  He  toe 
was  silent.  Had  he  any  hopes?  He  offered  no  prayers,  to 
either  God  or  man — none  that  were  audible,  at  all  events! 

"  Well !"  cried  the  captain,  "  has  he  any  confession  to  make  ? 
Let  him  out  with  it!" 

"  He  won't  speak,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  up  with  him,  and  let  him  die  dumb,  like  the  dog  that 
he  is!" 

It  is,  perhaps,  not  at  all  surprising,  the  degree  of  callosity 
which  the  mind  acquires  from  familiarity  with  brutality  and 
scenes  of  strife.  It  is,  perhaps,  as  little  to  surprise,  that  men 
yield  themselves  to  death,  under  the  same  sort  of  training,  with 
the  stolidity  of  the  brute,  if  not  with  the  resolute  defiance  of 
the  hero  !  The  two  fellows  to  whom  the  execution  of  the  cul 
prit  was  intrusted,  proceeded  to  their  office  as  coolly  as  if  the 
victim-were  a  mad  dog  only ;  and  he*  calmly  staring  them  in 
the  face,  without  word  or  plea,  appeared  as  perfectly  resigned 
to  the  doom  that  threatened  him. 

The  cord  Avas  thrown  over  the  beam,  and  the  stalwart  arms 
of  the  two  drew  it  down,  hand  over  hand,  while  the  victim  went 
up  in  air. 

"  It's  up  with  him,  is  it  ?"  cried  the  captain. 

"  He  kicks  free,"  was  the  answer  of  Murdoch. 

"  Then  keep  him  up  till  he  stops  kicking.  He'll  find,  when 
all's  over,  that  he's  kicked  once  too  often  for  his  own  salvation 
Let  him  kick  there  till  he  rots  !" 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  the  words,  when  there  was  a  shrill 
Scream  from  below  —  a  human  cry  —  then  a  rustling  sound  and 


30  BUT  AW. 

movement  j  and,  in  a  moment  after,  a  slight  form,  the  outlin ) 
of  which,  seen  in  the  waving  light  of  the  torches,  appeared  to 
be  that  of  a  woman,  rushed  up  to  a  level  with  the  group,  ascend 
ing  the  building  from  the  side  against  which,  as  we  remember, 
rested  the  two  great  logs  of  ranging-timbcr  left  urisawn.  The 
•movement  was  like  that  of  light  —  a  flight  —  a  flash  —  and  the 
unannounced  being,  darting  forward  to  where  tho  culprit  swung, 
a  foot  or  more  above  the  general  level,  with  a  single  stroke, 
which  nobody  had  time  to  prevent,  she  cut  the  victim  down, 
smiting  the  rope  which  suspended  him  with  a  long,  keen,  glit 
tering  knife ;  and,  in  the  next  instant,  flashing  the  blade  full  in 
the  faces  of  the  two  executioners,  whose  hands  still  kept  hold 
upon  the  divided  cord.  They  yielded  incontinently  before  her, 
m  panic,  so  sudden  and  unexpected  was  the  movement  —  so 
fierce  the  threatening  gesture. 

"  Harricane  Nell,  by  the  powers !"  was  the  involuntary  ex 
clamation  from  half-a-dozen  round. 

"Yes!"  was  the  cry  in  answer;  "it's  Harricane  Nell,  you 
bloody,  bitter  villains,  that's  come  here  to  look  upon  the  dis 
grace  of  man  !  Where's  he  ]  where's  that  black-hearted,  blood 
thirsty  villain  ?  where's  Lem  Watkins  ?  Let  me  see  him,  that 
I  may  spit  upon  him,  and  defy  him  to  his  teeth  !" 

And  she  turned  to  where  the  principal  ruffian  stood,  hardly 
yet  recovered  from  his  amazement,  and  certainly  not  yet  deter 
mined  what  to  do,  in  this  novel  condition  of  affairs. 

Meanwhile,  the  culprit,  who  had  been  too  promptly  relieved 
to  have  suffered  materially  from  his  momentary  strangulation, 
sunk  down  upon  the  rude  flooring,  where,  for  an  instant,  he  lay 
crouching,  and  recovering  his  senses  and  his  strength.  These 
returned  to  him  sufficiently  soon ;  for,  taking  advantage  of  tho 
.  surprise  which  had  been  occasioned  by  the  unexpected  entrance 
of  the  stranger,  he  crawled  a  single  pace,  to  where  the  planks 
opened,  and,  in  the  darkness  and  confusion  of  tho  scene,  quietly 
dropped  through  into  the  space  below  —  an  achievement  which 
iid  not  seem  to  entail  any  special  hurt  upon  his  person. 

But  his  descent  was  heard,  and  it  served  to  recall  the  refugee 
captain  to  his  senses. 

"Ha!   you  have  let  the  scamp  escape!" 

"Ay!"  cried  tho  woman,  swiftly  crossing  tho   space  to  the 


"HARRTCAETE   NELL."  Si 

spot  where  Watkins  stood  —  flitting  o^er  the  scattering  planks 
as  if  she  did  not  heed  their  sup^-m,  and  confronting  him  — 
'•'  ay,  and  you  may  help  ycurself  as  you  can  !  Send  out  youi 
scouts,  and  see  wnat  chance  they  will  have  in  these  swamps,  in 
the  darkness,  against  one  born  under  their  cover.  A  cracked 
crown,  each  of  them,  more  likely  than  a  captive  !'; 

"  Won?«m  !   what  do  you  here  1" 

"  To  save  the  brother  whom  you  would  have  butchered,  tc 
revenge  the  scorn  of  the  sister." 

"  It  is  false,  wench  !" 

"Wench!  —  Dog! — False!  True  as  any  star  in  heaven! 
And  there  is  not  one  of  these  here  but  believes  it !" 

"  Having  robbed  us,  you  come  back  to  insult  us,  do  you?" 

"  llobbed  !  Yes !  you  have  talked  much  of  our  robberies  ! 
But  let  the  troop  search  the  luggage  of  their  captain,  and  they 
will  find  proof  of  robberies  far  beyond  anything  which  has  ever 
been  charged  to  us." 

''Mad  woman,  you  lie!"  was  the  furious  roar  of  the  refu 
gee  captain. 

"Do  I  lie!''  exclaimed  the  woman.  "Then  prove  it! 
Throw  your  luggage  open  to  search ;  nay,  only  show  the  fine 
things  that  your  villany  offered  to  me  when  you  would  have 
bought  me  to  dishonor ;  and  to  this  boy,  and  to  my  sister's 
husband,  when  you  would  have  had  them  sell  me  to  dis 
honor.  But,  what  care  I,  whether  you  spoil  these  dastardly 
wretches  of  their  gains  or  not.  Rob  them  as  you  please,  they 
deserve  it.  Kick  them  as  you  will,  you  can1  not  degrade  them 
below  their  present  stature.  But  me  and  mine,  Lem  Watkins, 
you  shall  neither  rob  nor  kick  while  I  can  help  it  or  prevent. 
You  call  me  mad,  do  you?  Well,  I  am  mad  for  you;  and  my 
madness  shall  carry  knife  and  dagger  for  you,  felon,  whenever 
you  dare  to  cross  my  path  or  threaten.  I  am  done  with  you,  I 
hope  for  ever.  It  will  be  wise  for  you  to  have  done  with  me 
and  mine.  They  are  out  of  your  clutches  now,  and  that  is  all 
for  which  I  care.  As  for  the  miserable  toy  for  which  you  would 
have  taken  my  brother's  life,  here  it  is.  It  is  all  that  ever  came 
to  me  out  of  your  accursed  treachery.  Take  it,  wretch,  with 
all  its  blood  upon  it,  and  may  the  curse  which  follows  blood 
"' 'iig  with  it  io  your  snul  for  ever." 


32 

Tims  speaking,  she  pr^ed  a  ^-'j  wa'VS  ""ith  a  sparkling 
chain  from  her  bosom,  and  L.  ,  >1  it  fall  at  the  face  of  the  refu 
gee  captain. 

He  canght  it  ere  it  struck,  or  fell. 

"You  have  done  with  ns,  ITarrican-,  ^T-3lL  but  most  excellent 
wench,  we  have  not  done  with  yon.  Yon  have  rescued  the 
criminal ;  you  shall  be  a  hostage  in  his  place  oeize  her,  men, 
and  we  shall  recover  all  our  stolen  treasures !'" 

"Let  me  see  the  man  who  dares!'1  cried  th3  b:id  girl, 
striding  back  a  pace,  so  that  her  person  stood  out  bravely  in 
the  evening  light,  on  the  very  verge  of  the  mill,  and  where  it 
was  totally  unbounded.  With  a  spring  she  could  bury  herself, 
as  her  brother  had  done,  in  the  thick  darkness  which  shrouded 
all  the  mill-pond  below,  overgrown  with  weeds,  dark  with  shrub 
and  tree,  a  region  in  which,  by  night,  search  was  idle,  and  pur 
suit  almost  physically  impossible. 

"  Come  on  who  will !  I  am  ready  !  I  can  smite,  too,  as  you 
know,  when  it  is  a  ruffian's  throat  that  implores  my  knife.  One 
spring,  and  I  can  escape  and  laugh  at  you.  But  I  do  not  mean 
to  spring.  I  would  have  your  brave  captain  do  the  work  him 
self  which  he  calls  upon  you  to  execute.  I  am  ready  for  him, 
though  he  carries  sword  and  pistol.  Know,  Lem  Watkins,  that 
we  laugh  at  you,  as  we  loathe  you.  You  are,  in  fact,  in  our 
power.  In  your  fury,  you  forgot  your  precautions.  Where 
are  the  rifles  and  pistols  of  your  party  ?" 

"  Hell !"  cried  one  and  then  another.  "  They  are  in  the 
cabin." 

"  Ha !  fools !"  cried  the  captain,  "  you  did  not  leave  your 
weapons  behind  you  ?" 

"  Well,  we  didn't  see  as  there  would  have  been  any  use  for 
'em  jist  now,"  growled  one  of  the  subordinates. 

"Oh!  fools!  fools!  blockheads!" 

"  Yes,  and  none  greater  than  their  captain."  cried  the  woman. 
"  Your  rifles  and  pistols  are  in  our  possession,  with  hardly  an 
exception,  save  those  which  your  captain  carries.  And,  look  to 
each  corner  of  this  building,  and  you  will  see  an  armed  man 
armed  to  the  teeth,  with  gun  and  pistol,  and  with  the  bead 
ready  drawn  upon  every  enen;y  present;  upon  yov  first.  L:ir 
\Yatkhis,  if  you  dare  to  bu.-l^e  a  peg;  upon  you  next  Bl;ul 


-  HARR1CANE    NELL/  88 

Murdoch ;  upon  you,  viperous  Sam  Betts,  as  viperous  as  yom 
captain  is  murderous,  and  as  cowardly  as  yon  are  viperous ! 
We  are  ready  to  make  our  cross  upon  every  one  of  you  whom 
we  know  to  be  malignant  as  wicked.  Look  about  you,  and  see 
that  I  speak  the  truth.  See  if  you  recognise,  as  of  your  party, 
the  dark  figures  that  stand  ready  to  do  my  bidding,  at  every 
corner  of  this  house  !" 


84 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CHIAR'  OSCUR'. 

ev«ry  eye  turned,  as  bidden,  and  beheld. 
e\en  as  the  strange  passionate  woman  had  said,  the  shadowy 
outlines  of  the  dark  hostile  figures  by  which  they  were  surround 
ed  ;  armed  every  man  ;  and,  though  few  in  number,  but  five  or 
six  in  all,  yet,  under  the  circumstances,  ready  and  able  to  put 
in  execution  the  commands  of  the  speaker.  Lem  Watkins  fairly 
howled  in  his  rage  and  fury  ;  gnashed  his  teeth ;  and,  being 
really  b^ave  enough  for  any  struggle,  would  incontinently  have 
brought  the  pis'xn,  which  wa^  already  in  his  gripe,  to  bear 
upon  the  nearest  of  the  strangers,  but  that  Murdoch  caught  his 
hands,  and,  in  IOAV  tones  said  to  him  : — 

"  What's  the  use,  captain  ?  We  should  all  be  murdered. 
They  have  the  track  of  us  now :  we've  only  got  to  make  terms, 
and  get  off'  as  easy  as  we  can." 

"  And  with  twenty  men  give  up  to  half  a  dozen  ?'"  yelled  the 
captain  aloud. 

"Ay !"  was  the  shrill  answer  of  Harricane  Nell,  "  c^ii  thank 
your  stars  that  we  are  not  SUCTI  murderous  wretches  as  yourself, 
or  we'd  have  shot  you  down  ii  your  tracks,  man  by  man,  and 
you  couldn't  have  raised  a  finger.  But  we  do  not  want  your 
blood  on  our  hands.  Enough  that  you  have  none  of  ours  on 
your  souls.  Pursue  your  course  in  safety,. but  beware  Ii3w  you 
cross  ours.  We  shall  see  that  you  get  your  weapons  before 
morning.  But  the  niglit  must  be  ours.  Do  not  attempt  to  pur 
sue  us,  or  look  to  do  it  at  your  peril.  We  are  not  so  many,  but 
we  are  sworn  against  you  ;  and  you  nrr-  pt  :o  sure  of  your  own 
people,  to  attempt  anything  again  ie  Remain  here  till 


CHIAR'    OSCUR'.  %  35 

you  hear  our  bugle  three  times.  If  you  attempt  to  move,  it  will 
be  the  worse  for  you.  I  won't  answer  for  the  life  of  one  of  you 
that  passes,  before  that  signal,  from  the  spot  where  he  now 
etands." 

With  these  words,  without  waiting  for  any  answer,  she  leaped 
out  from  the  spot  where  she  stood,  as  it  were  into  the  great 
black  void  behind  her,  and,  catching  the  branch  of  a  China  tree 
that  rose  from  the  bank  behind  her,  she  descended  by  it  to  the 
earth,  as  safely  and  as  nimbly  as  the  native  squirrel  of  the 
swamps.  In  the  next  moment,  her  partisans,  one  by  one,  si 
lently  disappeared,  slipping  down  the  columns  of  the  rude  fabric 
where  the  scene  had  taken  place,  and  by  which  some  of  them 
had  ascended,  or  by  the  great  logs  of  ranging  timber,  which  had 
furnished  as  easy  a  mode  of  ascent,  as  had  been  afforded  the 
party  of  the  outlaw,  by  the  piled-lip  masses  of  refuse  plank. 

When  they  were  gone  from  sight,  Watkins  and  his  men  gave 
free  expression  to  their  rage  and  mortification,  the  first,  in 
openly  expressed  fury  ;  the  rest  in  sullen  growls  and  mutterings, 
and  undertoned  disputes  among  themselves. 

"  Pretty  soldiers  have  you  shown  yourselves,"  cried  the  cap 
tain — "  to  leave  sword  and  pistol  and  rifle  behind  you,  to  be 
seized  upon  by  a  handful  of  traitors,  and  suffer  yourselves  to  be 
caged  here,  and  bullied  by  a  mad  woman." 

"  Harricane  Nell  is  not  so  mad  as  people  think  her,"  quoth 
one  of  the  party,  "  and  I'm  mighty  sorry  that  anything's  driv' 
her  off  from  us." 

"And  do  you  mean  that  /  drove  her  away?"  demanded 
Watkins.  "  Who  is  it  that  dares  say  I  drove  her  off!  Is  there 
one* among  you  that  believes  her  silly  story  that  I  did  or  said 
Anything  to  drive  her  off?  If  there  is,  let  him  say  it  out  bold 
ly,  and  let  me  see  him  while  he  talks." 

And  he  was  about  to  stride  off  in  the  direction  of  the  grum 
bler,  when  the  timely  interposition  of  Murdoch  arrested  him. 

"  Take  caiv,  captain,  or  you  may  get  a  shot,  as  she  promised 
you,  if  you  move  too  soon.  We  haven't  heard  the  bugle-signal 
yet." 

"  No,  and  I  reckon  we  shall  hardly  hear  it  for  an  hour  yet 
They'll  want  time  to  carry  off  all  our  we'pons  and  plunder,' 
was  the  growling  speech  of  another  of  the  gang. 


36  *  EUTAW. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  Mad  or  not,  and  fierce  as  the  devil 
wliou  vou  rouse  her,  Ilarricanc  Nell  never  lies !  I  don't  think 
she'll  suffer  'em  to  carry  off  anything.  She  says  the  we'pons 
will  be  all  put  back,  and  I  think  it  likely  that  she'll  make 
Rhodes  restore  all  that  he  can  of  the  treasury.  You've  got  the 
watch,  captain,  you  see,  and  her  spirit  won't  suffer  her  to  keep 
anything  that  she  can't  make  her  own  title  to." 

"  D — n  her  !"  was  the  ungallant  response  of  Wat-kins,  his  soul 
sickening  beneath  its  insults  —  her  open  exposure  of  his  villany 
—  her  scornful  rejection  of  his  tenders  —  and,  as  we  have  reason 
to  believe,  her  blow  upon  his  mouth,  when  his  suggestions  be 
came  insolent. 

"  D — n  her !  I  only  wish  I  had  her  tied  up  to  a  tree,  and 
with  a  good  slip  of  hickory  in  my  grasp." 

"  Why,  cappin,  you  wouldn't  lick  a  woman." 

"  Why  not !  This  creature," — he  used  a  more  offensive  epi 
thet —  "is  no  woman  but  a  she-tiger!  It  was  as  much  as  I 
could  do  to  keep  from  putting  a  bullet  through  her  skull." 

"  And  she  seemed  mighty  nigh,  cappin,  to  giving  you  a  taste 
of  her  knife." 

A  laugh  followed  among  the  group  whence  this  latter  speech 
issued,  which  Watkins  did  not  relish.  He  felt  that  the  insub 
ordination  was  growing  among  his  ruffians.  The  scene,  which 
had  just  taken  place,  was  certainly  somewhat  calculated  to  les 
sen  the  reverence  for  his  authority. 

"  No  more  of  this,  man,"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "  As  for  the 
traitors,  we  shall  have  it  out  of  them  yet.  They  can  not  escape 
us.  Let  us  once  get  our  weapons,  and " 

"  Tsh  !  captain,"  whispered  Murdoch.  "  Don't  say  what 
you'll  do,  till  you  feel  yourself  on  solid  ground  again  !  Wait 
till  you  feel  the  rifle  in  your  hand.  No  halloo  till  we're  out 
of  the  woods.  I  reckon  they've  got  their  spies  listening  to  us 
now.  Hhodes  is  a  torn  scout ;  Mat  Floyd  is  first  rate  for  spy- 
:ng.  If  they  hear  what  we  mean  to  do  hereafter,  they  may 
vhango  their  minds  and  never  give  us  a  chance.  We're  in  a 
tix  now,  and  its  good  sense,  and  right  soldiership,  to  be  patient 
'ill  v;e  can  undo  the  hitch,  and  get  on  free  legs  again." 

re    right,    Murdoch  —  right!"     answered    the    captain. 
'So,  iellowis,  all  keep  silence;   not  n  word  in  the  ranks!      A§ 


CHIAR'   OSCUR'.  m     37 

we've  got  to  wait  apon  a  woman,  it's  only  wisdom  to  take  it 
i:atiently." 

And  the  men  squatted  down  on  the  places  where  they  stood; 
some  stretched  themselves  off  at  length,  as  if  for  sleep;  Wat- 
kins,  himself,  condescended  to  take  a  seat  upon  the  planks 
leaning  back  against  one  of  the  uprights  of  the  fabric;  while 
Murdoch  peered  out,  with  all  his  eyes,  through  the  openings  of 
the  floor,  as  if  to  see  whether  there  were  any  watchers  below. 
Meamvhile,  the  torches  gave  out,  and  the  party  was  left  in  utter 
darkness.  They  did  not  dare  to  look  for  new  brands. 

Darkness  and  silence  for  a  goodly  hour !  Meanwhile,  the 
great  horned  owl  which  had  possessed  himself  of  the  deserted 
fabric,  assured  of  its  abandonment,  flew  back  to  his  perch,  and 
resumed  his  doleful  chant  above  their  heads;  a  disquieting 
burden  that  seemed  to  every  watcher,  oppressed  naturally  still 
with  misgivings  of  the  enemy,  to  be  an  ominous  assurance  of 
future  evils !  And,  in  all  probability,  the  mysterious  bird  did 
not  absolutely  hoot  vainly,  to  their  fancies,  of  their  fates  !  Who 
shall  say  what  the  future  shall  bring  forth,  of  evil,  to  the  life 
which  is  itself  evil  1  Who  shall  say  that  those  wild,  mournful, 
mystic  voices,  which,  in  so  many  situations,  do  sound  an  omen  to 
our  conscious  souls,  were  not  designed  for  this  very  purpose  1  to 
inspire  terror  —  to  induce  a  reasonable  fear  —  to  compel  the 
soul  to  assert  itself  above  the  passions ;  and,  failing  in  this,  to 
indicate  the  danger  that  hovers  in  the  air,  in  the  night,  in  calm 
and  storm,  invisible,  but  not  less  armed  and  present,  with  all  the 
avenging  powers  of  the  Fates  that  wo  despise  1 

For  a  goodly  hour  —  incessant,  in  the  ears  of  those  criminal 
and  sleepless  watchers,  did  the  obscene  bird  chant  his  gloomy 
warnings ;  they,  themselves  held  voiceless  all  the  while !  At 
length  the  sudden  and  cheering  signals  of  the  bugle  sounded 
from  the  edge  of  the  swamp  above — faintly,  but  sufficiently  to 
reach  every  ear  of  the  party. 

Then,  with  a  breathless  sense  of  relief,  each  leaped  to  II'IF 
feet. 

"  Torches !  lights  !"  cried  Watkins.  "  Ho,  one  of  you  near 
est  to  the  plank,  get  down  and  bring  us  a  light,  so  that  we  may 
no*;  break  /ur  n(v;ke  in  tli.s  plac  •,  of  pitfjills." 

And  .the   refugee  chijr'   imp* .1  iently    vnitcd     parsing   all  th«* 


38    .  EUTAW. 

•while,  till  Fritz  and  Brodricli,  brought  lightwood  torches  from 
the  cabin. 

'•  All's  right !"  they  cried,  as  they  ascended  the  platform, 
waving  their  lights  before  them.  "  The  rifles  and  pistols,  a^ta 
swords,  and  knives,  are  all  put  back,  though  its'cl'ar  they  liar, 
'em  all  off  for  awhile.  They're  all  bundled  up  together  m  tlie 
corner." 

"  D — n  'em  !"  cried  the  ungrateful  captain  —  "  they  shall  pay 
for  their  frolic  yet." 

And  the  party  slowly,  though  with  no  little  eagerness  cl 
mood,  found  their  way  back  to  the  hovel.  Then  followed  a 
hasty  inspection  of  their  rifles  and  pistols. 

"Every  flint  gone  !"  cried  Fritz. 

•'Ha!    they  thought  to  make  themselves  safe  by  knocking 
them  out,  did  they  ?     Fortunately,  I  have  a  pound  of   them 
somewhere,  in  one  of  my  wallets.     Well,  boys,  you  can't  com 
plain  hereafter,  of  anything  that  I  may  wish  to  do  to  this  im 
pudent  pack  of  traitors." 

Thus  the  captain.  All  parties  agreed,  nem.  con.,  that  the 
worst  was  too  good  for  such  ungrateful  wretches. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  quoth  Watkins;  "for  I  w?,s 
afraid  some  of  you  were  getting  quite  too  mealy-mouthed,  and 
milky-souled  for  your  business,  and  for  me;  and  I  confess,  fel 
lows,  there  was  one  or  two  among  you,  that  I  began  to  bo  a 
lectio  suspicious,  was  somewhat  inclining  to  the  same  practice 
with  these  traitors !  I  was  getting  ready,  at  the  first  show  of 
skulking  or  sloping,  to  throw  away  an  ounce  bullet  on  an 
empty  skull.  But  I  see  you're  right,  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  it 
makes  the  work  easy  to-morrow.  You  all  see  what's  to  bo 
done,  I  reckon." 

It  so  happened  that  all  did  not  see,  and  the  amiable  captuia 
was  compelled  to  explain. 

"  Why,  we're  to  take  the  woods  after  these  rebels  and  traitors 
—  bring  'em  up  to  the  bullring,  when  we've  got  broad  daylight 
for  it,  and  no  danger  of  surprise,  and  see  if  we  can't  get  back 
our  stolen  goods  at  least;  we've  worked  quite  too  hard  after 
them,  and  risked  too  much  life,  to  have  'em  whipt  off  from  uo 
by  those  we  trusted  !" 


CHIAR'    OSCUR'.  39 

41  Well,  I  reckon,  the  goods  are  all  here,"  interposed  old  Snell, 
'*  in  this  sack,  that  stands  here  in  the  corner." 

"  And  how  did  you  know  all  about  it  ?"  demanded  the  captain 
sharply. 

"  Why,  I  see  the  sack  in  the  corner,  and  'twa'n't  here  before, 
and  then  Harricane  Nell  said  she'd  have  all  the  plunder  brought 
back." 

"  Hand  it  up,  fellows,  and  let's  see  what's  in  it.  As  for  you, 
Snell,  you  seem  to  be  quite  too  knowing  in  this  business.  I  am 
doubtful  of  you,  old  fellow;  do  you  hear?  I'm  doubtful  that 
you  would  like  to  play  us  just  such  a  trick  as  Nat  Rhodes ;  so 
be  on  your  P's  and  Q's,  for  as  sure  as  thunder,  if  I  catch  you 
at  any  fox-tricks,  I  shall  have  your  skin  off,  and  your  scalp  too, 
and  so  fix  it  that  no  surprise  shall  get  you  out  of  the  scrape 
until  it's  too  late  for  you  to  do  any  grinning  on  ybur  own  ac 
count." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  suspicion  me,  cappin :  I've  al 
ways" done  my  duty.  I'm  an  honest  man  to  my  duty." 

"  Yes,  and  perhaps  something  more  than  your  duty.  But  no 
words.  You're  a  little  too  quick  to  answer.  I'm  suspicious  to 
night  of  all  quick-speaking  people.  Up  with  the  sack  on  the 
bench,  here.  The  d d  table  hasn't  a  leg  left." 

The  sack  was  raised.  The  treasures  were  carefully  lifted  out 
—  a  curious  and  various  spoil,  and  one  of  comparative  value, 
T3ie  eye's  of  the  ruffians  gloated  over  the  recovered  treasure. 

"  That  mad  wench,  Harricane  Nell,  has  some  good  in  her," 
quoth  Murdoch.  "  She  has  made  tTie  rest  bring  it  back.  We'd 
•lever  hav'  seen  a  stiver  of  it,  if  'twa'n't  for  her." 

"No  thanks  to  her,  d — n  her!  I'll  have  it  out  of  her  hi7} 
to-morrow,  if  I  can  catch  her." 

Such  was  the  an  amiable  resolution  of  the  ungrateful  W  tkins. 
Murdoch  evidently  thought  him  imprudent  also,  which,  nmong 
rogues  and  politicians,  ie  a  much  worse  offence  than  lying  '& 
stealing. 

"  You  talk  too  loud,  captain,  if  you  mean  what  you  say.  It's 
no  use  giving  the  game  any  unnecessary  warning.  We  Jorrt 
know  what  coon  may  be  squat  under  the  eaves.  Turn  out  one 
of  you — you  Shivily  —  and  snake  about  the  premises,  ^ock 
sharp,  for  }  .  ^vo,  got  to  deal  with  d  whoJe  family  of  sharp;}." 


40  EUTAW. 

"  Ay,  and  by  thunder  they've  found  us  nothing  but  flat*  to 
night !  But  what's  to  be  done  with  this  stuff,  fellows  ?  Shall 
we  divide  again  to-night,  or  wait  a  more  quiet  time  ?" 

"  A  bird  in  the  hand,  cappin,"  said  Fritz,  and  his  sentiment 
found  sundry  echoes.  "  Bettor  share  off  to-night." 

"  Very  good,"  growled  the  captain ;  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  want 
any  more  risk  and  trouble  in  keeping  your  money  and  valua 
bles.  Come  up,  all  of  you,  and  see  that  it's  fair  play  and  fair 
share.  As  for  Shivily,  you  Murdoch,  can  answer  for  him." 

We  need  not  report  or  watch  the  dull  detail  of  distribution, 
or  note  what  each  man  receives  of  the  ill-gotten  treasure. 
Enough  that,  at  the  close  of  another  half-hour,  all  parties  were, 
or  professed  themselves  to  be,  satisfied. 

"  And  now,  fellows,  that  we've  jobbed  that  job,  let's  arrange 
for  to-morrow.  You  understand  that  we're  to  take  the  woods 
after  the  party  of  Rhodes,  the  traitor,  and  this  mad  woman, 
Harriqano  Nell." 

"  But,  cappin,"  said  Fritz,  "  I  dont  see  why ;  they've  gin  up 
everything." 

"  No,  d — n  'em  !"  was  the  fierce  response  of  the  refugee  chief, 
"they've  got  more.  They've  got  their  lives,  do  you  hear  — 
'vieir  lives!  They've  got  off — safely  —  after  their  treason  and 
:  ^bellion ;  their  defiance,  their  mutiny ;  and  after  that  bloody 
rascal  has  planted  both  his  feet  in  my  face !  He,  at  least,  shall 
sweat  for  it — shall  sweat  in  blood!  I've  sworn  to  that,  so, 
look  yoi  there's  no  argument.  There's  but  one.  It's  between 
him  and  me  !  His  blood  or  mine." 

A  long  consultation  followed,  as  to  the  processes  by  which 
Captain  Watkins  was  to  carry  out  his  plans,  and  pacify  his 
passions.  His  followers  were  not  altogether  influenced  by  his 
Lcioo'ds,  even  those  who  were  apt  to  be  most  ready  at  his  will. 
Th.i  fellow  Murdoch,  who  was  quite  as  shrewd  and  bold  as  he 
.vr.s  selfish  ;  Fritz,  who  was  cool  and  calculating;  and  some  fe\v 
jtliers  —  were  all  disposed  to  argue  the  case,  in  spite  of  the 
.kerees  which  had  gone  forth  forbidding  argument ;  but  Wat- 
kins  was  found  so  mulish,  as  well  as  savage  —  so  obstinate  as 
well  as  sanguinary,  that,  finally,  all  parties  seemed  to  arrive  at 
the  conclusion  that,  the  only  course  which  a  further  discussion 
of  the  cubject  would  leave  to  them,  would  be  the  alternative 


CHIAR'    OSCUii'. 

which  he  himself  had  indicated,  namely,  a  choice  between  him 
self  and  the  late  culprit,  Matthew  Floyd !  For  this  none  of 
them  was  quite  prepared;  or,  rather,  they  were  not  prepared, 
as  yet,  to  break  out  in  open  defiance  of  their  leader.  The  re 
sult  was  that  the  captain  had  his  way,  and  it  was  resolved,  that, 
next  day,  they  were  to  hunt  up  and  punish  the  fugitives,  to 
whose  forbearance  they  owed  so  much  to-night. 

Meanwhile,  the  objects  of  their  hostility  were  safely  shrouded 
(temporarily,  at  least)  in  the  swamp-thickets  a  mile  or  two  be 
low.  Let  us  gather,  with  them,  around  their  little  camp-fire, 
and  make  the  acquaintance  of  those  whom  we  have  only  seen 
in  shadow. 

Thus  far  we  have  seen  them,  by  contrast,  in  rather  favorable 
aspects.  The  nearer  view  will  not  help  the  portraiture.  They 
were  mostly  ruffians,  like  the  rest;  quarrelling  with  the  majori 
ty  only  because  of  passion,  or  a  degree  of  cupidity  in  themselves 
which  had  been  denied  the  desired  exercise.  Jeff  Rhodes  the 
miller,  an  old  man  of  sixty,  was  simply  a  rude,  coarse  offender 
--without  much  sense,  and  with  even  less  sensibility.  His  son, 
Nat  Rhodes,  was  only  a  younger  likeness  of  the  father.  Mat 
Floyd  we  have  seen  already,  and  the  evidence  we  are  possessed 
of  in  respect  to  him  will  probably  suffice.  Of  three  others,  whom 
we  shall  be  content  simply  to  name — Clem  Wilson,  Barney 
Gibbes,  and  John  Friday  —  we  have  no  other  report  to  make. 
They  do  not  differ  materially,  in  moral  or  aspect,  from  their 
associates.  Something  more  of  the  women. 

These  were  two  sisters.  Mary  or  Moll  Rhodes,  wife  of  Nat, 
was  an  ordinary  slattern ;  cold  and  coarse,  young  but  unattrac 
tive.  Her  sister,  Nelly  or  Ellen  Floyd,  otherwise  "  Harricane 
Nell,"  was  a  creature  of  different  stuff — quite  an  anomaly,  in 
fact.  We  have  seen  her  under  wild  conditions  —  conducting 
herself  with  the  spirit  of  a  man  •  showing  a  masculine  intre 
pidity  and  energy  which  shamed  all  the  men  about  her ;  quick 
to  the  occasion ;  prompt  in  the  emergency  ;  equal  to  the  dan 
ger  ;  superior  to  the  event ! 

Now,  as  we  see  her,  under  the  full  blaze  of  the  rousing 
camp-fire  around  which  the  party  was  grouped,  and  in  a  state 
of  comparative  repose,  it  may  be  well,  as  it  is  now  easy,  to  de- 
^cribe  hor  personal  appearance. 


i2  EUTAW. 

She  was  tall,  but  slight  of  form,  with  features  which  betrayed 
some  family  likeness  to  those  of  the  brother  whom  we  have 
seen  in  peril  of  his  life;  dark  of  skin,  with  glossy  black  hair, 
which  was  allowed  to  hang  down  upon  her  shoulders,  without 
tie  or  restraint,  a  foot  perhaps,  and  was  then  squarely  cut  away, 
presenting  a  not  dissimilar  appearance  to  that  of  an  Indian  girl 
of  thirteen.  Her  eye  was  of  a  piercing  black,  like  that  of  her 
brother,  but,  unlike  his,  was  singularly  prominent  and  large, 
round  and  dewy,  and  dilating  in  its  flashing  light.  Her  cheeks 
were  neither  thin  nor  full ;  the  mouth  was  small ;  the  nose  Gre 
cian,  and  rather  large  than  small ;  the  chin  finely  rounded ;  and 
the  forehead,  as  we  see  it  now,  freed  of  cap  or  covering,  large 
and  high,  but  somewhat  narrow.  The  whole  face  was  finely 
oval  and  of  a  rich  olive  color,  warmly  tinted  by  the  southern 
sun.  It  was  not  one  which  you  would  call  handsome  —  cer 
tainly  it  was  not  pretty ;  but  it  was  a  distinguished  portrait, 
worthy  of  Murillo,  and  such  as  he  would  have  gone  out  of  his 
way  to  paint.  Nothing  could  be  more  expressive,  more  intelli 
gent —  nay,  at  times,  startling  —  in  the  flash  of  its  glance,  in  the 
glowing  vivacity  and  spirit,  in  every  feature,  all  consentaneously 
working  to  produce  a  singleness  of  effect,  under  the  goads  of  an 
impulsive  and  bounding  blood,  which  was  for  ever  restless,  and 
impatient  of  restraint. 

Her  costume  was  far  less  feminine  than  picturesque.  It  was 
a  nondescript  —  mannish  rather.  A  boy's  hat  of  felt,  wrapped 
about  with  a  red  handkerchief,  was  her  usual  head-dress,  and 
its  aspect,  in  connection  with  the  long,  black  hair,  that  fell  down 
upon  her  shoulders,  was  not  a  little  curious ;  but  a  few  moments 
fully  reconciled  you  to  it,  by  its  evident  propriety,  judging  by 
the  excellence  of  its  effect.  Was  she  aware  of  this  ?  Perhaps  ! 
— she  was  a  woman,  spite  of  all ! 

Her  frock —  she  certainly  wore  a  frock  —  was  short  enough 
to  serve  the  wants  and  satisfy  the  tastes  of  a  favorite  sultana ; 
but  the  material  was  of  the  common  blue  homespun  of  the  coun 
try.  Under  this  she  wore  loose  trowsers,  and  her  feet  were 
clad  in  moccasins.  A  man's  jacket,  fastened  tightly  about  her 
body,  with  close-set  rows  of  jet  buttons,  completed  her  costume. 
The  stuff  of  which  the  jacket  was  made  was  of  homespun,  like 


CHIAR'  OSCDR'.  42 

the  panta.oons,  but  dyed,  with  wild  roots  of  the  country,  of  a 
bright  orange  color. 

Such  is  Nelly  Floyd  — "  Harricane  Nell"  —  to  the  eye,  at 
she  half  sits,  half  reclines,  against  a  tree,  a  few  paces  from  the 
fire  of  the  camp.  Her  sister  is  preparing-  supper  — a  homely 
and  rather  surly  drudge.  The  rest  of  the  group  are  busied, 
each,  in  some  fashion :  one  cleans  his  rifle ;  another  sharpens 
his  knife ;  a  third  attends  the  horses,  some  twenty  paces  dis 
tant  ;  and  all  pursue  their  toils  in  silence.  Mat  Floyd,  so  nearly 
the  victim  to  the  hostility  of  the  refugee  captain,  is  not  present ; 
and  the  party,  obeying  the  signal  of  Mrs.  Rhodes,  gather  about 
the  supper,  which  is  laid  out  upon  the  grass  —  an  ample  sup 
ply  of  bacon  and  corn-bread,  not  forgetting  the  inevitable 
coffee. 

Of  the  men,  as  they  came  up  to  the  circle,  we  need  but  men 
tion  that  they  were  stout  fellows,  capable  of  service  ;  well  built, 
and  looking  finely  in  the  picturesque  and  highly-appropriate 
hunting-shirt  of  the  frontiers  —  a  garment  that  never  should 
have  been  abandoned  by  our  rural  population.  But  their  faces 
betray  none  of  that  superiority  which  indicates  the  present  au 
thority  ;  and  we  see,  as  we  look  into  them,  how  and  why  it  is 
that  the  slight  girl,  whom  we  find  along  with  them,  should  have 
taken  upon  herself  the  lead  in  an  enterprise  of  great  difficulty. 
The  eager  impulse  in  her  eyes  —  the  fire  that  burned  upon  her 
cheek  —  the  lively  play  of  muscle  in  her  vivacious  counte 
nance —  are  in  beautiful  contrast  with  the  bald,  inexpressive, 
and  sullen  visages,  of  all  around  her. 

It  did  not  seem  that  her  companions  relished  this  natural  su 
periority,  and  the  authority  to  which  it  as  naturally  led.  The 
glances  shot  toward  her  were  unfriendly.  The  words  addressed 
her  were  cold  and  discouraging. 

"  Why  do  you  not  come  up  and  eat,  Nelly  ?"  was  the  query 
of  her  sister. 

"  I  wish  nothing.     I  can  not  eat." 

"  Well,  but  take  some  coffee." 

"  Yes,  I  will  drink  directly  -7-  not  now." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  with  her!"  said  old  Rhodes,  churlishly  5 
"  bin;  will  eat  when  she  wants  to.  She  will  only  do  what  please: 
herself,  you  know." 


44  EUTAW. 

The  giil  shot  a  flash  of  the  eye  at  the  speaker,  but  took  uc 
mrt  .er  notice  of  the  speech. 

"  You're  too  proud,  Nelly  Floyd,  for  your  own  family,"  said 
b  si-  sister,  Mrs.  Rhodes,  junior.  "It's  a  great  misfortin'  and  a 
cin  when  a  person  gits  too  proud  for  her  own  family.  That 
r.i-ing  you  got  in  the  house  of  rich  people,  and  being  lamed 
above  your  sarcumstances,  did  you  no  good." 

To  her  also  the  wild  girl  gave  only  a  flashing  glance  of  her 
large,  eager,  and  dilating  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  where  she  got  her  edication,"  said  old  Rhodes, 
''  and  i  don't  much  care.  I  only  know  that  it  don't  at  all  suit 
•^  e  necessities  of  the  life  we  have  to  lead  here  on  the  Edisto." 

li  Then  leave  it !"  said  the  girl,  almost  fiercely.  "  Leave  it, 
and  be  a  better  man  elsewhere.  Leave  it,  and  have  clean  hands 
elsewhere,  and  make  your  soul  white  with  peace." 

u  Peace  !  and  where  are  we  to  git  peace  anywhere,  now-a- 
days,  in  this  country  V 

"  Nowhere  !  GO,  leave  the  country  !  It's  high  time  that  you 
£h;.uld  do  co  There  are  enemies  that  you  have  made,  all 
around  you,  who  will  haunt  your  footsteps  till  they  wash  out 
blood  with  blood — 'the  blood  you  have  spilt  with  the  blood  that 
runs  in  your  own  veins!  I  warn  you,  Jeff  Rhodes,  that  you 
o«,n'l  stay  here  long.  The  war  is  coming  down  upon  you. 
Watkins  knows  it,  and  lie's  going  below,  and  going  south.  You 
will  need  to  fly  too." 

"Well,  and  if  we've  got  to  do  what  Watkius  is  gwino  to  do, 
where  was  your  argyment  that  toi/k  us  all  off  from  Watkins?" 

"  The  argument  was  your  own.  7.t  was  an  argument  of  plun 
der.  You  got  possession  of  the  treasure  of  the  troop; — it's  ill- 
gotten  treasure;  and  you  robbed  the  robbers." 

"  And  right  enough,  too." 

"  You  never  cared  to  quit  Watkins,  till  you  had  his  gold  and 
silver." 

"  Ay,  and  where's  it  now  ?  Why  ha'n't  we  got  it  now  ?  Why 
are  we  all,  now,  poor  as  Job's  turkey  e,  not  knowing  where  to 
find  a  house  to  sleep  in,  or  git  food  for  to-morrow's  dinner  2  It's 
:  wing  to  you  !  If  you  hadn't  got  the  bag  in  your  own  keeping, 
and,  like  a  mad  fool  as  you  are,  'gi'n  it  back  to  Watkins,  we'd 
2.*  had  something  to  go  upun  now,  go  where  we  will.  There 


CHIAR'   OSCUR'.  45 

was  no  right  and  reason  to  give  up  the  plunder.  Hadn't  we 
got  the  boy  off?  Wasn't  it  enough  to  give  'em  back  their  rifles 
and  pistols?  Where  was  the  use,  I  want  to  know,  of  your 
toting  back  the  bag  of  gould,  and  silver,  and  paper,  the  silver 
cups,  and  the  gould  watches  ?  It  was  jest  so  much  waste.  H — 1 
and  blisters  !  ef  it  had  been  only  in  my  hands,  or  ef  I  could  ha* 
got  it  out  of  your'n,  they'd  never  ha'  fingered  the  first  shilling 
of  the  treasure.  Why  the  h — 1,  Nat,  did  you  trust  the  bag  to 
sich  a  crazy  critter  ?" 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best,"  answered  the  son  sullenly.  "I  was 
hard  pushed,  and  she  offered  to  take  care  of  it,  and  said  she 
could  hide  it  away  where  none  could  find  it." 

"  And  did  I  not  ?"  responded  the  girl,  with  something  of  tri-. 
urnph  in  her  tones.  "  You  tried  to  find  it,  did  you  not  ?  You 
failed !  and  well  for  you  that  you  did.  Your  blind  avarice 
would  have  kept  it.  You  would  have  risked  nothing  to  save 
my  brother's  life." 

"  Didn't  we  offer  to  make  a  dash  upon  'em,  when  they  was 
bringing  him  into  the  swamp,  after  night  1  and  couldn't  we  have 
done  it,  when  they  was  stumbling  along  the  causeway  ?" 

"  You  might,  with  a  chance  of  having  every  one  of  you  butch 
ered  !  —  with  a  chance,  at  least,  of  some  of  you  being  slain,  and 
of  my  brother  falling  first.  For,  had  you  attacked  them,  what 
would  he  have  done,  with  both  arms  tied  behind  him,  and  Black 
Murdoch  with  his  pistol  at  his  ear  ?  No !  we  could  only  save 
him  as  we  did,  without  peril  to  any  one  of  you  — except  my 
self!" 

"Well,  supposing  we  agree  to  that,  what  was  the  use,  then, 
of  giving  up  the  bag  ?  We  had  'em  at  our  marcy  !  We  had 
all  their  we'pons !  We  made  jest  what  tarms  we  pleased  with 
'em,  and  they  was  all  too  glad  to  git  off  with  their  we'pons  and 
their  lives.  We  needn't  ha'  gi'u  'em  a  copper  of  the  treasure." 
"  Better  so,  than  have  the  weight  of  blood  upon  your  souls ! 
But,  had  we  not  given  up  this  treasure,  do  you  think  that  Wat- 
kins  would  have  suffered  you  to  make  away  with  it  1  Would 
he  not  follow  your  steps,  day  by  day ?  would  he  not  haunt  you 
and  harass  you  out  of  your  lives,  from  swamp  to  swamp,  and 
from  thicket  to  thicket  ?  would  you  ever  be  permitted  to  sleep 
in  peace,  so  long  as  he  knows  that  thers  is  gold  or  silver  in  vcrrr 


46  EUTAW. 

keeping  ?  No  !  It  matters  not  to  him  from  whom  he  drags  the 
treasure,  so  that  he  has  it ;  and  while  he  knows  that  you  have 
it,  will  he  not  haunt  you  for  it  ?  And  the  very  fact  that  you 
had  violated  your  trust,  and  rohbed  him  of  his  gains,  however 
ill-gotten,  would  have  jiifjtified  him  in  pursuit,  and  kept  you  for 
ever  in  a  consciousness  of  wrong-doing,  which  would  have  kept 
you  always  in  a  state  of  fear  !  Better  as  it  is,  old  man  !  Bet 
ter  clean  hands,  and  a  white  soul,  though  we  hunger  by  day, 
and  sleep  shelterless  by  night.  I  can  sleep  shelterless ;  I  need 
no  house,  though  it  is  thought  that,  because  I  was  reared  in  a 
noble  one,  I  have  been  spoiled  for  other  uses.  I  can  do  with 
out  supper,  ay,  and  without  growling  over  my  starvation.  I 
can  endure  hunger,  poverty,  exposure,  if  I  feel  that  my  hands 
are  clean.  My  heart  is  light  under  the  naked  sky." 

"Ay,  'twouldn't  be  amiss  having  a  light  heart,  ef  the  head 
wasn't  so  cussed  light  too.  It's  your  head,  Nell,  that  plays  the 
el — 1  with  us.  'Twas  your  light  head,  a'ter  all,  that  made  us 
dissatisfied  with  Watkins,  and  want  to  quit  the  sarvice.  'Twas 
a  good  sarvice,  and  it  paid  pretty  well,  though  it  gin  us  hard 
work  sometimes.  And  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  flashed 
up  in  the  face  of  Watkins,  jest  because  he  was  fond  and  scrump 
tious  to  you.  You  might  go  farther,  I  reckon,  and  fare  worse, 
than  ef  you  had  taken  to  him  kindly." 

"  Hark  you,  old  man  !  it  is  not  for  such  as  you  to  speak  of 
my  head  or  my  heart,"  answered  the  girl,  rising  as  she  spoke, 
and  stretching  her  hand  over  the  group,  with  the  air  of  a  far 
superior  being.  "  You  know  nothing  of  either.  You  neither 
know  the  thoughts  in  the  one  nor  the  feelings  in  the  other.  My 
head  is  light,  do  you  say  ?  And  yours,  I  say,  is  heavy  —  heavy 
as  the  solid  lead  or  rock!  As  for  my  heart  —  man  i  man!  it 
has  stood  between  you  and  damnation  more  than  once.  It  has 
striven,  a  thousand  times,  to  save  you  from  eternal  fires.  You, 
to  dare  to  speak  of  my  heart  —  you,  to  me  —  when  these  eyes 
have  seen  you  shoot  down  an  angel  ;  ay,  in  ambush,  behind  a 
thicket,  you  have  shot  down  the  unsuspecting  angel,  as  he  went 
upon  his  way.  I  saw  him  fall !  I  saw  you  as  you  rifled  hia 
person.  And,  even  while  you  were  engaged  in  the  pitiless  rob 
bery,  I  saw  the  angel  rising  from  the  corpse,  and  hanging  over 
you  in  the  air,  without  wings,  but  supported  in  space,  and  going 


CHIAR'   OSCUB'.  47 

npward  slowly;  and,  as  ho  went,  ho  looked  down  upon  yon 
with  pity,  though  I  could  see  thai  his  hands  were  lifted  up  to 
heaven,  as  if  pleading  for  eternal  judgment !  And  you  to  talk 
of  my  heart,  when  I  know  that  black  crime,  and  how  many  oth 
ers  that  I  do  not  know,  to  be  hanging  like  a  millstone  about 
yours !  Ay,  old  man,  even  now  I  see  your  heart  before  me. 
The  breast  is  naked.  I  see  into  your  soul,  and  I  see  it  covered 
with  grimy  spots  of  corruption,  black  and  rotting,  where  your 
evil  deeds  have  each  made  a  print  of  hell !" 

It  was  through  such  speeches  as  this  that  Harricane  Nell  had 
incurred  the  imputation  of  insanity.  Was  she  insane  1  Was  it 
madness  that  spoke,  or  had  she  the  fearful  gift  of  supernatural 
vision  that  she  claimed  1 

"Mad  —  mad  as  thunder!"  cried  the  old  man.  "  Was  ever 
sich  nonsense  '\  To  think  of  my  shooting  an  angel !  'Tis  the 
affair  of  young  Ancrum  that  she's  thinking  of.  But  only  to  be 
lieve  that  she  seed  his  sperrit,  rising  up  from  the  body,  jest 
when  I  was  a-stripping  him  !'r 

"  I  saw  it !  I  saw  it !  There  is  not  a  star  shining  down  upon 
us  now,  but  can  assure  you  that  I  saw  it." 

"  Mighty  good  witnesses  of  sich  a  matter,  ef  they  could  only 
come  into  court  and  make  affidavy  of  it.  What  a  mad  fool  she 
is  —  madder  than  ever !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  shoot  an  angel !  Ha ! 
ha  !  ha  !  Shoot  an  angel  —  only  think  !" 

The  laugh  was  not  a  sincere  and  honest  laugh.  There  was 
something  quite  suspicious  in  the  tones.  They  were  husky  and 
laborious.  The  old  man  was  sensibly  affected  by  the  strange, 
startling,  and  solemnly-uttered  communication.  He  had  just 
enough  knowledge  of  religion  to  believe  that  there  is  a  soul ; 
and,  though  his  practice  betrayed  usually  but  small  concern 
after  the  conditions  of  the  future,  yet  souls  ascending  and  de 
scending  were  (however  vague)  the  articles  in  his  secret  faith. 
He  found  the  effort  vain  to  encounter  the  intense  spiritual  gaze 
of  that  great,  prominent,  round,  dark  eye,  that  looked  on  him, 
while  he  yelled  out  his  labored  laughter,  with  a  glance  of  fas 
cination.  She  turned  away  a  moment  after. 

41  Don't  laugh,  father  !"  cried  the  sister  reproachfully.  "  Nel 
ly's  not  to  be  laughed  at.  She's  got  a  power  of  seeing  sperrits 
She  has !  Now,  don't  laugh  !  It's  very  fearful  to  think  cf , 


48  EUTAW, 

but  j;hc  has  it!  She's  told  »e  of  other  tilings  befcre  and  I'm 
sure  she  seed  'em.  Nelly  never  lies  !" 

The  girl  had  sprung  off  several  paces  into  too  shftdowa,  but 
she  returned  as  quickly. 

"  Be  warned,"  she  said,  "  and  leave  this  place  by  peep  of  day 
If  you  can.  Mat  will  be  in  soon.  He's  done  all  that  could  bt 
done-.  He  sounded  the  bugle  a  mile  above,  in  the  upper  swamp  ,- 
and  if  Watkins  hunts  after  you,  he  will  probably  strike  upward. 
Better  you  go  below.  Keep  clown  the  Cawcaw,  till  you  strike 
the  Edisto,  then  cross ;  get  on  to  South  Edisto,  and  cross  that 
too ;  and  you  can  find  close  harbor  for  the  present  in  the  Salke- 
watchie  swamp.  That's  your  safest  place.  You're  not  safe 
here.  You're  not  cafe  from  Watkins.  You're  not  safe  from  the 
dragoons  of  either  party.  Both  of  them  know  too  much  of  you 
by  this  time.  Go,  if  you  are  wise !  It  is  the  last  counsel  that 
you  will  probably  ever  get  from  my  light  head  and  heavy  heart. 
Go!" 

She  turned  instantly  away,  not  waiting  for  any  answer.  Her 
sister  called  after  her,  but  in  vain. 

"  She's  gone !  she  kaint  bear  hard  speaking,"  said  the  sister. 
"Your  hard  speaking's driv  her  off.'' 

And  the  woman,  whp  had  shown  no  sort  of  sensibility  before, 
now  began  to  whine  pitifully. 

"  Sliet  up,"  said  the  husband,  "  and  don't  make  a  fool  of  your- 
Hf!" 

''Let  her  go,  and  a  good  riddance!"  was  the  speech  of  the 
old  miller.  "  She  was  for  ruling  everything  while  she  stayed, 
and  meddling  in  every  man's  business.  The  misfortin'  is,  she 
won't  be  gone  long.  She'll  be  back  agin,  there's  no  telling  how 
L  I  reckon  she'll  jest  canter  over  to  old  Mother  Ford's; 
•ui<]  the  two  between  'em  will  be  talking  of  ghosts,  and  sperrits, 
mid  witches,  the  whole  livelong  night.  Shoot  an  angel,  indeed  ! 
'•'iily  to  think  of  that!  "Well,  Molly,  though  she's  your  own 
deaf  sister,  I  must  jest  say  she's  as  mad  as  any  critter  that  was 
ever  commissioned  for  a  lunatic." 

In  these  words,  the  old  ruffian  only  declared  his  real  senti 
ments.  He  was  perfectly  satisfied  to  get  rid  of  the  wild  girl 
whom  nobody  could  well  comprehend.  Ilude  and  savage  as  he 
was,  she  was  a  restraint  upon  him.  She  kept  him  and  most  of 


CHUB'   OSCUR'  49 

the  party  in  awe.  He  was  afraid  :/f  her  on  many  accounts— 
not  only  as  a  superior,  who  still,  somehow,  contrived  to  control 
himself  and  all  the  party,  but  because  she  knew  too  much,  and 
might  some  day  work  him  evil.  He  did  not  much  fear  being- 
brought  to  account  for  shooting  an  angel,  but  he  had  some  mis 
givings  lest  society  should  think  that  there  was  a  degree  of 
criminality  in  shooting  a  man  ;  and  he  felt  that  it  would  be 
quite  as  distressing  to  him  to  suffer  on  the  gallows  even  for  so 
innocent  a  mistake.  He  felt  relieved,  therefore,  in  the  absence 
of  so  truth-telling  a  witness. 

Meanwhile,  Nelly  Floyd,  alias  Harricane  Nr^J  was  speeding 
on  horseback — riding  a-straddle  like  a  man  across  the  coun- 
rrp.  and  ii,  the  direction  of  the  Edi&to. 

3 


69  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER   V. 

TrfU    OUTLAWS    FIND    NFAV    CAPTIVES. 

HARRICANB  NELL  hadn't  been  gone  from  our  group  of  run* 
gates  more  than  half  an  hour,  when  they  were  all  startled  by 
the  sound  of  a  horse  approaching  from  above.  The  men  were 
on  the  alert,  and  as  the  horseman  dashed  into  camp,  he  was  chal- 
leng-ed  promptly  and  answered  satisfactorily.  He  proved  to  be 
the  absent  culprit,  Mat  Floyd,  who  had  been  commissioned  to 
give  the  signal  to  the  party  of  Watkins  from  a  section  of  the 
swamp  above,  and  to  scout  awhile  around  them,  so  as  to  ascer 
tain,  if  possible,  what  purposes  they  had  in  view.  The  vigilant 
watch  which  they  maintained  about  the  cabin  of  the  miller, 
u'hen  they  re-occupied  it-,  prevented  him  from  making  an)  l«ry 
near  approach. 

44  They'll  be  stirring  by  times,  I  reckon,  in  the  morning,  and 
I  suppose  they'll  be  brushing  up  after  u0,  above." 

"  And  why  do  you  suppose  they'll  brujh  after  us  p.t  all,"  de 
manded  old  Rhodes,  who  had  asserted  ths  same  thing  himself 
in  dealing  with  Nelly. 

"  It  stands  to  reason.  We've  stung  'em  too  badly  to-night  i 
That  cussed  Lem  Watkins  is  as  unforgiving  as  h — 1 !  But  let 
me  have  some  supper,  Jenny.  I'm  as  hungry  as  u  horse." 

His  supper  had  been  saved  for  him. 

"Where's  Nell?"  he  demanded,  after  he  had  begun  to  eat. 

"  Cleared  out,"  was  the  answer  of  old  Rhodes. 

"  Cleared  out !" 

"  Yes  !  She  got  into  her  tantrums,  and  gave  us  a  sort  of 
harricane,  and  then  mounted  her  horse  and  galloped  off.'5 

"  You've  driv'  her  off  among  you,"  said  the  brother.     "  She 


THE   OUTLAWS    FIND    NEW    CAPTIVES.  61 

never  gits  up  a  harricanc  onless  there's  provocation  for  it.     She 
kain't  stand  abuse." 

"Nobody's  been  abusing  her.     She's  been  abusing  us." 

"  She  had  a  reason  for  it,  I  reckon,  and  you've  m  it.  Why 
the  d — 1  kain't  you  let  the  gal  live  in  peace !" 

"  I  wonder  ef  she'll  let  us.  She's  for  finding  fa-It  with  every 
body  and  everything.  What  do  you  think  of  ner  telling  me 
that  she  had  seen  me  shoot  an  angel  —  shoot  an  angel!  ha  5 
ha!  ha!" 

"  Well,  ef  she  said  so,  I  reckon  you  did.  Nelly  always 
speaks  the  truth.  But  you  must  have  provocatcd  her  to  make 
her  say  so." 

"  Ef  it's  provocating  her  to  tell  her  she's  a  fool  for  giving  up 
our  gotild  to  them  bloody  rapscallions  for  nothing,  then  I  reckon 
you  may  say  we  did  provocate  her." 

'•  And  you're  more  senseless  than  stick  or  stone  for  doing  so ; 
and  that,  too,  after  all  she's  done  for  me  to-night !  Ef  'twa'n't 
for  her,  I  reckon  I'd  ha'  been  swinging  from  the  millhouse 
beam,  arid  never  a  bit  wiser  for  this  supper  here." 

"  No  you  wouldn't !  Ef  it  hadn't  been  for  her,  we'd  ha*  ix- 
tricated  you  from  the  inimy  when  you  were  gwine  down  into 
the  swamp,  and  saved  our  bag  of  gould  and  silver  besides!" 

"You!"  said  the  young  man  scornfully.  "I  reckon  you 
might  ha'  tried  for  it,  but  you  never  would  ha*  done  it,  and 
would  only  ha'  got  your  heads  split  for  it,  every  two-legged  man 
of  you !  Nell's  plan  was  the  sensible  one,  and  it  sarved ! 
Besides,  we  agreed  on  it  aforehand,  without  letting  you  know 
about  it,  'kaise  we  knowd  that  you'd  ha'  been  meddling  in  it, 
and  sp'iling  it  all  with  your  own  inventions,  and  bekaise  you 
wa'n't  willing  to  give  up  the  sack.  That  sack  would  ha'  kept 
you  from  doing  anything;  and  I'd  ha'  been  swinging  in  the 
wind  to-night,  with  the  old  owl  whooping  over  me,  as  who  but 
ho !  Tell  me  nothing  of  what  you'd  ha'  done.  You  wa'n't 
men  enough,  any  of  you,  to  be  doing  rightly  when  the  time 
come  to  strike." 

"  Well,  letting  that  go,  whar  was  the  use  of  giving  up  the 
bag  Rg'in  to  them  rapscallions  ?" 

"  Oli  !  it's  that  bag  that's  at  the  bottom  of  all  your  miseries. 
and  you'd  rather,  a  mighty  deal,  h.'.ve  saved  that  bag  than  ha 


l£  EUTAW. 

saved  me.  I  knew  it !  Even  my  own  sister  thar,  and  my 
lie-c-a^avv^Naui]  yon,  his  father;  you'd  lia'  said — 'Well, 
•we've  got  the  sack  and  all  the  gonld  in  it,  and  that's  something ; 
as  for  Mat  Floyd,  it's  his  chaince,  poor  fellow,  and  'twould  he  as 
much  as  the  lives  of  all  of  us  was  worth,  to  be  putting  in  to  try 
to  ixiricate  him  from  them  chaps ;  they're  too  many  for  us. 
And  so,  I  should  have  been  now  in  the  cross-timber  and  the 
rt'iv.e  i  That's  the  way  you'd  ha' made  it  easy  to  your  con 
sciences  !  And,  bekaise  the  gal  took  the  temptation  away  from 
you,  and  show'd  you  how  to  do  the  thing,  you've  driv'  her  off 
with  your  abuse." 

'  We  hain't  abused  her,  Matty,"  interposed  the  sister,  Molly, 
'  but  she  was  in  her  high  head,  you  see,  and  talking  very 
foolish." 

"  Yes,  and  you  talked  mighty  brute-like  back  at  her  !  That's 
the  how  !  Don't  I  know  !  Don't  I  see  through  the  whole  of 
you  and  it's  all  owing  to  that  cussed  bag  of  plunder." 

"  To  be  sure  !  And  enough,  too  !  And  why  did  she  give  up 
the  plunder  a'ter  you  had  got  out  of  the  hitch,  and  when  there 
was  no  needcessity  for  it." 

"  Nelly  was  right !      Twa'n't  ours  by  rights." 

"  We  had  shares  in  it." 

"And  so,  bekaise  you  had  shares  in  it,  you  was  for  taking 
the  whole !  But  Nelly  was  right  for  another  reason,  and  she 
show'd  me  all  about  it  aforehand.  So  long  as  we  carried  that 
plunder,  jest  so  long  would  we  hev'  Watkins,  and  black  Mur 
doch,  and  the  rest,  hunting  after  our  blood  !" 

"  Psho  ^besides,  you've  just  done  saying  that  they'll  brush 
the  woods  a'ter  us  to-morrow." 

"Maybe;  it's  like  enough.  They'll  most  likely  try  the 
woods  above,  and  that'll  give  us  a  chance.  So  make  the  most 
of  it.  Ef  I  hev'  to  fight  to-morrow  I  must  sleep  now ;  but  I 
do  say,  when  you  driv'  off  Nelly  Floyd*  you  driv'  off  the  best 
head  —  light  and  foolish  as  you  think  it  —  and  the  blessedest 
creature  that  we  ever  had  among  us.  She's  only  too  good  for 
such  as  we." 

"She'll  come  back  agin,  Matty,"  said  the  sister. 

"  I  hope  so,  Moll  ;  but  ef  sh«;  don't,  then  I  know  another  that 
goes  a'ter  her.  I'd  sou..ri  live  witij  IMT,  and  she  a-raving  all 


THE   OUTLAWS   FIND    NEW   CAPTIVES,  5& 

the  time,  then  with  the  rest  of  you  that's  always  a-growling  and 
A-gTumbling,  do  what  you  please  for  *ern." 

And  Mat  Floyd  rolled  himself  up  for  sleep  with  his  feet  to 
the  fire. 

And  the  night  passed  quietly.  The  watch  at  our  camp  of 
fugitives  had  not  been  neglected.  Each  had  taken  his  turn  at 
scouting,  and  the  day  found  all  the  men  armed,  and  under  close 
cover,  keeping  sharp  espionage  upon  the  mill-seat  ahove. 

They  were  not  mistaken  in  their  calculations.  Lem  Watkins 
and  his  refugees  were  in  motion  with  the  dawn,  and,  as  had 
been  anticipated,  were  soon  beating  the  upper  woods  of  the 
swamp,  in  keen  pursuit  of  the  seceding  party.  This  exercise 
employed  some  hours ;  it  was  fruitless,  of  course,  and  they 
returned  to  a  late  breakfast  at  the  cabin,  and  then  proceeded  to 
a  mock  consultation  of  war,  in  which  we  do  not  care  to  par 
ticipate. 

And  our  fugitives  watched  equally,  while  their  enemies  break 
fasted  and  consulted. 

The  day  wore  on. 

Suddenly  the  woman,  Molly  Rhodes,  who  had  been  left  in 
the  background,  with  the  horses,  all  deeply  hidden  in  the  shel 
ter  of  the  swamp,  stole  upward  along  the  stream,  till  she  neared 
the  party  who  were  keeping  watch  upon  the  old  mill-seat. 

"A  party  of  horse,"  she  murmured  to  her  husband  —  "a 
party  of  Marion's,  I  reckon  —  hev'  pushed  into  the  woods,  not 
two  hundred  yards  from  our  camp.  They  have  a  carriage  with 
them,  and  they  are  consulting  together.  They  have  seen  some 
thing.  Be  on  the  look  out." 

To  change  front ;  to  steal  backward  and  outward,  so  as  to 
have  an  eye  upon  the  upper  road  which  wound  along  by  the 
swamp,  was  an  easy  performance  for  our  fugitives ;  and,  armed 
to  the  teeth,  with  rifles  ready,  not  knowing  what  they  were 
destined  to  encounter,  they  turned  away  from  their  watch  upon 
their  old  associates  —  some  of  whom  they  could  distinctly  see, 
in  and  about  the  mill-seat  and  the  broken  causeway  —  and  ad 
dressed  all  their  watch  to  the  progress  of  the  new-comers,  in 
whoso  cautious  and  stealthy  movements,  they  clearly  perceived 
that  some  dashing  enterprise  was  afoot. 

This  troop,  as  they  knew  by  UK-  uniform,  was  undoubtedly 


54  EUTAW. 

on,e  of  Marion's.  From  close  cover  of  busli,  ravine,  and  fallen 
tree,  they  beheld  its  progress,  all  the  way  under  cover,  until, 
when  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  mill-seat,  it  burst  forth  with 
bound  and  shout,  and  bugle-blast  and  cry,  charging  pell-mell 
upon  the  refugees  of  Watkins,  as  they  were  grouped  about,  or 
scattered,  in  no  sort  of  order,  at  the  entrance  of  the  causeway 
or  upon  it.  Some  of  the  refugees  were  on  horseback  ;  Watkins 
himself  was  midway  upon  the  causeway,  on  foot,  drinking  above 
the  stream,  his  bottle  in  one  hand,  his  bridle  in  the  other.  A 
dozen  of  them  were  on  foot,  lounging  free,  their  horses  fastened 
to  swinging  limbs  of  a  tree,  to  which  they  made,  at  full  speed, 
at  the  first  signal  of  danger. 

But  too  late.  It  was  a  complete  surprise.  The  troopers  of 
Marion  were  upon  them,  cutting  and  slashing,  ere  they  could 
unhitch  their  steeds,  or  mount. 

A  rout  followed,  Watkins  leading  at  a  run,  and  leaping  his 
horse  over  break  and  chasm  in  the  causeway,  followed  by  one 
half  of  his  band,  the  pursuers  darting  close  upon  their  heels. 

Our  little  squad  of  runagates,  on  their  side  of  the  mill-seat, 
beheld  the  whole  transaction.  They  were  relieved. 

"  No  danger,"  said  old  Rhodes,  "  from  Watkins  and  his  rogues 
to-day.  Now,  Mat,  you  and  one  of  the  boys  cut  straight  across 
the  swamp,  and  see  what  happens  t'other  side." 

And  the  parties  sped  accordingly,  even  as  directed. 

Meanwhile,  the  shouts  rose  faint  and  fainter  upon  the  air; 
and  Rhodes  stole  out,  followed  by  one  or  two  of  his  companions, 
and  cautiously  took  the  trail  of  the  pursuers,  and  noted  the 
havoc  which  they  had  made  in  their  hurried  dash  across  the 
causeway.  Seven  men  were  slain  outright — all  by  the  broad 
sword  There  might  have  been  some  wounded;  but,  if  any, 
old  Rhodes  refused  to  see  them.  Had  they  been  in  his  way, 
lie  would  probably  have  shortened  their  sufferings  by  a  merci 
ful  knock  on  the  head  from  rifle-butt  or  billet.  It  is  not  certain 
that  he  did  not  use  one  of  these  implements,  in  this  manner; 
for  his  temper  was  naturally  bloodthirsty,  and  Molly  Rhodes, 
to  whom  he  made  his  report,  had  no  authority  for  its  correct 
ness  but  his  own. 

Two  hours  might  have  elapsed  before  Mat  Floyd  and  the 
other  young  man  came  in,  all  brimful  of  intelligence. 


THE   OUTLAWS   FIND   NEW    CAPTIVES.  56 

•  Well  ?"  demanded  old  Rhodes. 

"  Well !  It's  all  smoke  and  blazes.  I  reckon  that  Lem  Wat- 
kins  and  all  his  troop  is  all  cut  to  pieces.  The  chase  was 
mighty  close  —  the  men  of  Marion  cutting  down  and  chopping 
up  at  every  lope  of  their  nags  !  Ef  Watkins  is  saved  at  all,  it's 
by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  He's  had  a  narrow  chaince." 

"  But,  these  Marion's  men  ? — " 

"  Well,  their  chaince  is  a  mighty  nice  one  too ;  for,  look  you, 
they  only  hauled  up  in  the  face  of  a  great  army  of  red-coats  — 
more  than  a  thousand  men,  I  reckon." 

"  Well,  well?  —  out  with  it  all !" 

"  Well,  the  red-coats  driv'  the  blue-coats  down  the  road,  tow 
ard  Orangeburg,  and  I  reckon  they'll  sarve  'em  with  the  same 
sauce  they  sarved  out  to  Watkins.  They've  gone  on,  red-coats 
and  blue-coats,  and  we're  safe !  Bless  the  blue-coats  and  the 
red-coats  both,  for  they've  may  be  settled  all  our  accounts 
square  with  Watkins  and  his  rapscallions  for  a  while  and  for 
ever!" 

"  And  there's  a  carriage  they've  left  in  our  woods,  with  wo 
men  in  it!"  quoth  Molly  Rhodes. 

"Ha!  oh,  yis,  a  carriage!  Quick,  boys — let's  look  after 
that  carriage.  I  reckon  there's  smart  pickings  in  that  carriage 
for  them's  that  thrifty." 

And  the  old  ruffian  led  the  way  backward  to  the  spot  where 
the  strange  cavalcade,  and  the  escort  of  Marion's  men,  had  bsen 
first  discovered  by  Molly  Rhodes.  No  one  made  any  opposi 
tion  to  the  suggestion  of  plunder.  •  Even  Mat  Floyd,  who,  under 
the  eye  of  his  wild  young  sister,  was  somewhat  inclined  to  be 
come  tame,  appeared  just  as  eager  as  the  rest,  now,  when  plun 
der  was  in  sight. 

"  You  say  all's  safe,  Mat  1"  demanded  the  veteran  rogue. 

"Safe  — safe!" 

"  Red  coats  and  blue — the  whole  army  gone  clear  by,  down 
for  Orangeburg?" 

"  Ay,  and  fighting  as  they  go  !  And  Watkins  and  his  men 
all  swallowed  up,  somehow ;  and  the  swamp  between  us  and 
the  whole  of  'em  !" 

"  Then  the  way  is  clear ;  the  field's  our  own :  so  git  ready 
for  clean  reaping.  But  snake  i% .  boys ;  and  you,  Moll,  keep 


56  EUTAW. 

back  among  tl.e  horses.     Snake  it  boys;  there's  no  telling  if 
there's  not  some  sentinel  on  the  wat  ^h  somewhere." 

And  they  snaked  it,  i'rom  cover  to  cover,  until,  among  the 
pine-groves  of  the  highlands,  they  discovered  the  travelling- 
carriage  and  the  parties  whom  it  bore. 

"  Two  women,  a  sarvant-gal,  and  the  nigger  driver.  Do  you 
see  any  more  ?"  was  the  query  of  old  Rhodes  to  Mat  Floyd, 
who  crouched  beside  him. 

"  Them's  what  you  see  outside.  Moutbe,  some  one's  inside 
the  carriage." 

"  I  don't  think.  I  see  no  sign  of  anybody  besides.  It's 
easy  skrimmaging  —  'most  like  taking  partridges  in  trap.  Kf 
the  picking  is  as  good  as  the  catching's  easy,  we're  in  luck, 
boy,  for  once  in  our  lives." 

And  the  rogues,  just  escaped  from  a  roguish  fraternity,  pre 
pared  to  enter  upon  the  same  business  on  their  own  account. 

"  Do  you  t?ke  the  horses  by  the  head,  Mat  Floyd ;  you're 
about  the  quickest  in  motion.  Nat  Rhodes  will  gripe  the  driver, 
though  'tain't  like  he'll  be  offering  to  fend  off;  and  me  and  the 
other  boys  will  sarkimvent  the  women.  You  be  at  hand,  Molly, 
to  consolate  tnem  if  they  happens  to  be  too  much  frightened, 
and  want  to  squeal." 

A  very  good  plot,  but  less  easy  of  execution  than  was  calcit 
lated  on ;  for,  though  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was  a  negro 
yet  he  was  an  old  one — a  tough,  prompt,  fearless  fellow  —  and 
his  name  was  Cato  !  He  must  not  discredit  his  name. 

The  two  ladies  had  been  walking  and  gathering  wild  flowers. 
They  were  now  seated  upon  a  fallen  tree,  and  seemingly  en 
gaged  in  a  deep  and  interesting  conversation.  One  was  past 
her  prime,  but  vigorous  still,  unwrinkled,  with  a  clear,  bright 
eye,  and  intelligent  face.  The  other  was  her  daughter,  a  young 
girl  about  eighteen,  very  fail,  very  beautiful,,  and  with  a  coun 
tenance  full  of  animated  and  benevolent  expression.  The  man 
ner  of  both  indicated  care,  however,  and  some  present  anxiety, 

"You  hear  nothing,  Bertha  ?"  said  the  elderly  lady. 

"  Not  a  sound,  mother.  Could  Captain  Gt.  Julien  have  pushed 
the  pursuit  of  the  enemy  ?  Surely  it  was  very  rash  to  do  so." 

"  It  is  not  for  us  to  decide,  my  daughter  The  soldier  should 
know  his  own  Juliet;  best.  Besides,  \vhcii  meai  lire  engaged  in 


THE    OUTLAWS    FIND    .\K\V    CAPTIVES  o7 

Action,  and  the  blood  is  thoroughly  excited,  they  can  not  arrest 
hemselves.  I  hope  St.  Julien  has  not  pushed  the  pursuit  too 
far,  and  fallen  into  some  ambuscade." 

"  I  wish  Willie  Sinclair  were  here,  mother.  The  stillness  of 
everything,  after  that  wild  shouting,  becomes  positively  awful." 

"  I  don't  know,  if  Sinclair  were  here,  my  child,  that  he  could 
or  would  have  done  otherwise.  You  must  not  let  your  affec 
tions  bias  you,  to  the  wrong  of  Captain  St.  Julien.  Willie  has 
tho  utmost  confidence  in  his  courage  and  ability,  and  we  have 
seen  enough  to  convince  us  that  he  is  a  man  of  great  prudence 
and  coolness." 

"He's  almost  too  cool,  mother  —  cold,  indeed ;  certainly,  he 
has  treated  us  with  singular  reserve  —  knowing,  as  he  must, 
vJhat  are  our  relations  with  Willie." 

"  But  he  has  beer,  most  respectful,  Bertha,  and  has  shown  no 
lack  of  solicitude  at  ail  needful  moments.  Do  not  be  unjust. 
It  is  only  hib  peculiar  manner.  But  do  you  not  hear  a  noise, 
my  child,  like  the  breaking  of  a  branch?  I  thought,  too — " 

At  that  moment,  the  conversation  received  a  startling  inter 
ruption,  both  ladies  finding  themselves  pinioned  from  behind, 
by  the  grasp  of  strong  arms  thrown  about  them.  A  slight 
shriek  escaped  the  girl,  as  she  endeavored  to  rise;  but  the 
elderly  lady,  looking  cjuietly  behind  her,  met,  with  a  glance  of 
little  discomposure,  the  harsh  features  of  the  ruffian  by  whom 
she  was  secured. 

"  Quiet,  gal,"  said  old  Rhodes,  keeping  Bertha  in  her  place 
— "  quiet,  and  no  screaming!  We're  not  guine  to  hurt  you; 
jnly  jest  guine  to  keep  you  safe,  as  I  may  say,  out  of  the  way 
of  harm." 

At  that  moment,  the  heads  of  the  horses,  some  thirty  paces 
distant,  were  seized  by  the  firm  hands  of  Mat  Floyd ;  while 
N^at  Rhodes,  rather  (ieliberately  advancing  to  the  negro  driver, 
put  out  his  hand  to  grasp  him,  as  he  said  : — 

"  Git  down,  old  fellow ;  we  want  to  see  the  measure  of  your 
foot." 

But  Cato  was  true  to  his  name.  He  answered  with  a  sudden 
blow  from  the  butt  of  his  whip,  laid  on  with  no  light  emphasis, 
and  Nat  Rhodes  incontinently  went  down  under  it,  measuring 
his  fyh^l54  length  upon  the  ground. 

2*' 


58  EUTAW. 

Cato's  tritunpli,  however,  was  of  short  duration.  Mat  Floyd 
left  the  horses  to  one  of  his  fellows,  sprang  into  the  hox  at  a 
oound,  and  hurled  the  old  negro  out  headlong.  At  the  same 
moment,  a  couple  of  fellows  from  the  woods  sprang  out  upon 
the  negro. 

Seeing  the  fall  of  the  faithful  slave,  and  one  of  the  outlaws 
upon  him,  the  young  lady  darted  away  from  the  relaxed  grasp 
of  old  Rhodes,  and  rushed  to  the  place  of  struggle  before  he 
could  prevent  her.  She  threw  herself  upon  the  negro,  inter 
posed  her  own  person  between  him  and  the  ruffians,  and  shrieked 
for  mercy. 

By  this  time,  old  Rhodes  came  up,  and  interposed  also — just 
in  time,  it  would  seem  ;  for  the  young  outlaw  who  had  taken 
Cato  by  the  throat,  was  already  preparing  to  tickle  it  with  his 
knife. 

"  He's  killed  Nat  Rhodes,"  said  the  fellow,  as  he  waved  th^j 
glittering  weapon. 

"  I  hope  not !  I  think  not.  Nat's  got  a  hard  head  of  his 
own,  and  'twas  only  a  whip-handle  stroke,  a'ter  all."  So,  old 
Rhodes. 

"  Look  at  the  blood-puddle !  And  he  don't  rise,  you 
see!" 

"Wait!  Jest  rope  the  nigger;  and,  ef  anybody's  killed, 
why,  we  kin  hang  him  afterward  the  same  as  before.  But 
there's  no  fun  in  killing  a  nigger  that  we  kin  sell !" 

By  this  time,  the  whole  gang  of  ruffians  were  grouped  to 
gether  about  the  party.  The  negro  was  roped,  hands  and  feet, 
and  the  ladies  bade  to  keep  quiet  while  the  process  of  rifling 
was  going  on.  Molly  Rhodes  was  present  at  this  operation, 
and  kindly  consented  to  take  care  of  the  gold,  trinkets,  and 
watches,  of  which  the  ladies  were  despoiled. 

To  the  astonishment  of  the  captives,  they  deigned  no  notice, 
and  answered  none  of  their  questions.  The  carriage  was 
searched,  and  in  marvellous  short  time  was  stripped  of  all  that 
was  at  once  portable  and  valuable. 

While  one  of  the  rogues  held  the  horses,  and  another  kept 
watch  over  the  prisoners,  old  Rhodes,  Mat  Floyd,  and  the  rest, 
retired  to  the  thicket  for  a  further  consultation.  They  labored 
under  an  etnbarras  dcs  richcssc^l  but,  with  the  wonted  habit  of 


THE    OUTLAWS    FIND    NEW    CAPTIVES.  59 

cupicuty,  were  unwilling  to  fling  away  any  of  their  spoils,  oven 
though  they  should  prove  impedimenta,  only. 

No  long  time  was  consumed  in  consultation.  They  soon  re 
appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  proceeded  to  the  completion  of 
their  work,  but  without  giving  us  the  slightest  clue  to  their  fur 
ther  purposes. 

"  We  must  git  the  carriage  into  the  main  road  again,  Mat." 

"  Shall  I  drive  it  round  ?" 

"  Drive  it  round  ?  No,  no  !  That  would  be  to  tell  whosever 
comes  a'ter,  what's  the  track  we've  taken.  No,  as  we've  got  to 
go  down,  you  see,  we'll  back  the  horses  upward,  and  so  git 
backward  into  the  road  above.  Then,  you  see,  ef  they  track 
us  out  of  the  woods  into  the  road,  they'll  naterally  think  we've 
kept  on  upward,  while  we're  a-pushing  down,  you  see !  But 
we  won't  keep  the  track  long.  We'll  cross  at  the  narrow  gut, 
where  the  water's  mighty  shallow,  and  the  thick  not  so  close 
that  the  carriage,  pulled  by  four  sich  stout  critters —  and  them's 
fine  critters,  Mat  —  can't  be  pulled  through!  And  so,  we'll 
cross  the  swamp,  and  git  into  the  rear  of  that  great  army,  and 
then  push  below  into  the  woods  agin.  That'll  pretty  much 
throw  off  all  them  that  might  hunt  for  us." 

The  scheme  was  that  of  an  old  fox  apt  at  doubling.  The 
plan  was  one  which  would  have  led  away  from  the  right  scent 
most  ordinary  scouts.  It  was  of  easy  performance.  It  needed 
only  that  one  should  go  behind  the  carriage,  regulate  the  course 
of  the  wheels  so  as  to  avoid  trees  and  stumps,  while  another,  at 
the  head  of  the  well-trained  horses,  backed  them  obliquely  into 
th<e  road.  And  the  thing  was  managed,  cleverly  enough,  after 
some  little  delay.  The  tracks  of  the  wheels  seemed  to  show  that 
the  carriage  was  driven  upward,  entering  the  road  obliquely, 
and  making  no  turn  when  the  road  was  gained.  This  done, 
our  ruffianly  senior,  old  Rhodes,  approached  the  ladies,  and  civ 
illy  invited  them  to  accompany  himself  in  a  walk  through  the 
woods. 

But  who  are  you,  sir,  and  what  means  this  violence  to  un 
offending  women  1" 

"  Oh,  no  sort  of  unoffending,  ma'am ;  not  a  bit  of  violence. 
We'll  treat  you  as  civil  as  we  kin  help.  We're  only  taking 
care  of  you  in  these  obstropolous  times  of  ncedcessity,  and  we'll 


60  EUTAW. 

jest  keep  you  ontil  your  friends  kin  hear  of  you,  and  pay  be 
penses." 

"But  where  are  our  friends,  sir?  Where's  Captain  St.  Jir 
lien  ?" 

"  Ah,  ma'am,  I'm  mighty  sorry  that  I  kaint  answer  you  as 
you'd  like  to  hear !  The  cappin's  in  no  way  to  help  you  now. 
He's  heen  butchered  all  to  pieces,  and  I  reckon  sculped  too  by 
the  orfullest  villains  that  ever  skirrd  a  country." 

"  Butchered  1     Oh,  Heavens  !" 

"  What !  St.  Julien  — Captain  St.  Julien?" 

"  The  very  same  excellent  young  captain,  and  most  honora 
ble  gentleman.  You  see,  ma'am,  he  fell  into  a-skrhniiiaging 
with  the  most  bloody,  determinate  cappin  Lem  Watkins,  of  the 
Flurrida  riffigees,  and  they  jest  as  well  as  tore  him  to  flinders." 

"  Horrible  !     But  how  do  you  know  this  ?     Did  you  see  it  '<" 

"  Ah,  ma'am,  eyes  never  seed  sich  an  orful  massacree  !  All 
of  him,  and  his  troop,  that  rode  by  so  sassy,  only  two  or  three 
hours  ago,  all  cut  to  mincemeat  by  the  riffigees." 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother!  but  this  is  too  horrible  !" 

"  Ay,  to  be  true  !  I  don't  believe  it.  Do  not  fear,  my 
daughter  —  this  man  lies!  I  eee  it  in  his  face."  This  was 
epoken  aloud.  . 

"  As  I'm  a  mortal  sinner,  ma'am — " 

"  You  need  not  swear !  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  us  ? 
what  do  you  require  of  us?  And  let  me  warn  you,  sir — be 
ware  !  You  will  account  for  all  this  conduct  to  those  who  have 
the  power  to  punish." 

"  Oh !    ma'am,  never  you  be  afeard.    You're  in  good  hands 
liat  won't  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head  ef  you'll  only  listen  to  the 
r  '.ason  of  the  argyment,  and  jist  do  as  we  axes  quietly." 

'•What  shall  we  do?" 

;T'\'cll,  that's  the  right  thing.  You  see,  ma'am,  we'll  jist  carry 
y^u  a  bit  off,  and  put  you  out  of  harm's  way;  and  so,  ma'am 

—  the  first  step's  hafe  the  battle,  you  know  —  I'll  jist  thank 
you  to  waJk  along  with  me,  you  and  the  young  lady,  your  da'ter 

—  and  a  mighty  putty  young  gal  she  is  —  and  —  it's  only  a  step 
across  the    swamp    here,   ma'am  —  mighty    nice   walking,   logs 
across  all  the  way,  and  when  we  gits  you  on  t'other  side,  we'll 
bring  the  coach  through,  and  then  you  kin  take  your  seats  agin 


THE   OUTLAWS   FIND    NEW    CAPTIVES.  61 

We'll  then,  yon  see,  be  only  a  few  miles  from  Orangeburg,  and 
—  so — jist  a  leetle  bit  of  a  walk." 

Here  Gate  interposed. 

"  Hello  !  dere.  missis,  don't  you  go  wid  dem  d — n  blackguard 
you  ver.  We  hab  for  stay  here,  whay  de  cappin  put  we  for 
stay  till  he  come  back." 

"  She*  -ip.  yen  skunk,  before  I  slit  your  tongue,"  cried  the 
out/aw,  who  stoou  watch  over  him  —  the  exhortation  enforced 
by  a  suggestive  kick  of  the  foot. 

"  Kick  away,  and  cuss  !  I  ain't  'faid  ob  sich  cattle.  I  'bay 
order !  I  for  stop  yer,  till  de  cappin  come  back.  Yeddy  !" 

'•You  will  see  that  my  coachman  suffers  no  harm  —  and  the 
girl,  sir  —  the  girl." 

"  She's  in  a  leetle  hitch,  ma'am,  for  the  present,  but  nothing 
to  harm.  The  nigger's  sassy,  but  we  ain't  too  preticular  how  a 
nigger  uses  his  tongue  when  he  can't  use  his  legs.  He'll  come 
over  safe,  and  the  gal  will  go  along  with  you." 

The  matron  soon  perceived  the  sort  of  person  she  had  to  deal 
witxi  —  saw  that  resistance  was  out  of  the  question,  and  would 
only  provoke  kidJgnity,  and  that  she  had  no  argument  left, 
which  could  possibly  operate  on  such  a  ruffian.  She  yielded  a 
quiet  submission,  accordingly,  and,  taking  the  arm  of  her 
daughter,  they  walked  down  into  the  swamp  with  all  the  calm 
ness  they  could  command,  though  with  a  lurking  misgiving  that 
their  murder  in  it?  dark  recesses,  might  be  made  to  cover  their 
robbery. 

The  woman,  Molly  Rhodes,  led  the  way  —  the  negro-girl 
followed  her  mistress ;  Cato  was  tumbled  into  the  carriage-box, 
tied  as  lie  was,  and  made  to  keep  his  seat  alongside  of  Mat 
Floyd,  who,  following  his  instructions,  drove  down  some  two 
hundred  yards  below,  then  turned  out  of  the  road,  at  a  point 
where  a  swath  of  turf  suffered  scarce  an  impression  of  the 
wheels  ;  ho  then  made  his  way  into,  and  through  the  swamp  and 
stream,  at  a  crossing-place  only  known  to  the  outlaws,  who  had 
been  lingering  for  some  time  in  the  precinct. 

Once  across,  the  two  ladies  and  servant  girl  were  made  to 
resume  their  places  in  the  vehicle,  and  it  was  driven  up  the 
slopes,  into  the  road  which  the  British  army  had  so  recently 
pursued;  then,  directly  across  it,  and  down  the  country,  by 


62  EUTAW. 

almost  blind  neighborhood  tracks,  upon  which  the  traveller  was 
now  rarely  to  be  seen. 

What  was  its  destination  ?  what  the  purpose  of  the  outlaws  » 
This  was  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  old  Rhodes  himselt,  wno  an 
swered  the  queries  of  Mat  Floyd  with  a  significantly  euniihig 
look : — 

"  I  knows  'em  well.  They  belong  to  big  people,  ana  km  pay 
well  for  all  the  trouble  they  gives  us." 


THE   WILD    rnil/S   CANTER 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WILD    GIRL'S    CANTER. 

WE  are  sorry  to  admit  that  Mat  Floyd,  so  recently  out  of  the 
halter,  showed  himself  singularly  indifferent  to  the  morals  of 
his  present  career,  and  seemed  easily  reconciled,  by  the  promise 
of  spoil,  to  a  resumption  of  the  evil  practices,  which,  at  one 
moment,  he  had  thought  to  have  abandoned  for  ever,  when  he 
abandoned  the  party  of  Lem  Watkins.  It  is  probable,  indeed, 
that  with  Nelly  Floyd  beside,  to  strengthen  him  in  a  good  re 
solve,  he  would  have  maintained  it — for  the  time.  But  Mat 
Floyd  was  one  of  those  frail  creatures  that  need  the  Mentor 
beside  them  always ;  and,  with  whom  the  escape,  for  a  single 
moment,  from  the  guidance  of  the  superior,  is  almost  a  certainty 
of  lapse  from  good  to  evil.  He  was  rude,  wild,  ignorant ;  not 
wanting  in  good  impulses,  but  terribly  snoceptible  to  the  bad. 
Old  Rhodes,  as  consummate  and  hardened  an  old  villain,  as 
ever  was  born  for  a  halter,  easily  swayed  him  in  the  same  direc 
tion  with  himself,  the  moment  the  mad  girl  —  as  they  all  con 
sidered  or  called  her  —  was  gone  from  sight. 

And  Nelly  Floyd  —  Harricane  Nell  —  what  is  the  course 
which  she  takes,  on  leaving  the  party  of  outlaws,  with  whom,  it 
appears,  she  could  so  little  assimilate?  She  rides  away  as  if 
with  a  purpose  —  as  if  with  a  well-considered  object  in  view, 
and  seemingly  as  fearless  of  the  route  as  if  it  were  broad  day 
light,  and  the  country  everywhere  reposed  in  the  arms  of  peace. 

If  the  most  singular  fearlessness  of  character,  a  masculine 
decision,  an  intense  will,  and  an  impulse  that  always  declared 
itself  without  restraint  —  if  these  qualities  were,  in  any  way, 
characteristic  of  insanity,  Nelly  Floyd  was  certainly  the  mad 
creature  whom  her  associates  believed  or  asserted  her  to  be 


64 

But  we  have  our  doubts.  Nelly  was  not  a  mere  woman  —  n<  •, 
certainly,  an  ordinary  one;  she  did  not  act  as  is  the  con; 
mode  with  her  sex.  She  did  a  thousand  things  from  which  UK  st 
of  them  would  shrink  —  said  a  thousand  things  which  wonhl 
never  have  entered  the  brain  of  an  ordinary  woman  to  coi: 
ceive,  and  never  gave  herself  much  concern  about  that  influent .' 
which  women  usually  find  so  coercive  a  power — "  what  my 
neighbor  thinks."  Public  opinion  was  to  her  not  even  a  name. 
Her  mind  and  heart,  eminently  just,  never  seemed  to  think  it 
necessary  to  submit  her  conduct  to  any  other  control  than  hoi 
own  will.  This  regulated  her  impulses,  and  she  obeyed  tltcm 
Ordinarily,  to  do  this,  is  to  come  in  conflict  with  society ;  and 
he  or  she  who  comes  in  conflict  vrith  society,  naturally  incur* 
the  imputation  of  being  bad  or  mad.  If»she  errs  in  moral 
having  such  impulses  and  obeying  them,  the  world  calls  hei 
bad ;  where  it  can  take  no  offence  on  this  head,  the  epithet  ii 
more  indulgent  —  the  woman  is  simply  mad!  In  either  cast 
she  is  in  a  state  of  outlawry  —  is  an  offender;  and  if  she  goeft 
unwhipt  of  what  the  world  calls  justice,  it  is  rather  because  of 
her  good  fortune  than  the  world's  good  feeling.  All  of  her 
neighbors  will  agree  that  she  deserves  the  lash ! 

Nelly  Floyd's  infirmity  was  that  of  the  Arab.  Her  nature 
was  untameable  through  the  usual  processes.  She  could  be 
governed  by  affection,  rather  than  by  coercion ;  could  be  held 
fettered  by  the  sympathies,  but  by  no  other  fetters.  Coldness 
or  selfishness  revolted  her.  Her  impulses  were  all  unselfish. 
Her  nature  seemed  superior  to  all  common  cravings.  Lacking 
most  other  ties,  she  loved  her  horse,  Arab  fashion  —  though  lie, 
a  mere  pony  of  our  swamps,  called  in  common  speech,  the 
"marsh  tackey'^was  no  Arab,  yet  he  might  have  had  Arab 
blood  in  him.  Quien  sabe?  His  race  is  traceable  to  ilio 
descent  of  Hernan  de  Soto,  when  he  sought  to  conquer  Flor 
ida,  but  where  tho  Floridians  conquered  him.  The  stock  was 
Andalusian,  and  r,o,  had  an  Arab  origin.  And  the  little  beast 
of  Nelly  Floyd,  insignificant  in  size,  and  not  very  comely  of 
outline,  had  yet  some  characteristics  of  the  descent.  He  was 
fleet,  hardy,  never  to  be  tired  down,  and  fed  on  weeds,  wild  gras 
ses,  the  cane-top,  anything — without  showing  any  dissatisfaction 
with  the  owner  who  could  make  no  better  provision  for  his 


TIIE    WILD    GIRL'S   CANTER.  65 

wants.  Dismissed  with  a  word  at  evening,  lie  was  brought  out 
of  the  swamp  or  marsh  at  morning,  with  a  whistle.  Very  free 
yet  very  docile,  it  needed  but  a  word  of  Nelly  to  send  him  for 
ward —  to  restrain  his  motion  — and,  when  absent,  to  call  him 
to  her  side.  She  had  plaited  hie  mane,  AS  you  see  them  plait 
the  hair  of  little  girls  in  heavy  links,  which  hung  down,  parted 
equally  on  both  sides  of  his  neck.  She  loved  to  pat  and  talk 
with  the  animal,  and  it  loved  to  be  patted  and  to  listen ;  and 
the  two  friends  so  grew  together,  that  neither  was  quite  satisfied 
when  the  other  was  out  of  sight.  And  these  fondnesses  be- 
ctowed  upon  her  steed,  were  among  the  many  proofs  which  she 
gave  to  those  about  her,  of  an  idle  brain,  or  a  deficient  wit. 

With  the  vulgar  world  all  displays  of  affection  are  apt  to  be 
held  ridiculous.  You  must  show  yourself  superior  to  these  enfee 
bling  dispositions.  And,  if  you  happen  to  bestow  your  sym 
pathies  on  the  infirm,  or  those  toward  whom  it  can  not  be  sup 
posed  that  any  policy  should  incline  you,  you  are  guilty  of  the 
sublime  in  the  absurd,  showing  yourself  wasteful  and  profligate 
of  arts,  which,  used  toward  a  superior,  may  be  rendered  very 
profitable  to  self. 

Oh!  believe  me,  nothing  can  be  more  curious  than  worldly 
definitions  of  the  virtues.  Enthusiasm ;  a  frank  nature ;  a 
disregard  of  self;  charity,  love,  religion;  all  these  incur,  at 
some  period  or  other,  the  imputation  of  simplicity,  eccentricity, 
insanity ;  the  three  regular  degrees  of  transition  in  such  a 
progress.  These  simple,  yet  sublime  virtues,  constituting  as 
they  do,  the  great  essentials  for  preserving,  perpetuating  and 
elevating  human  society,  are  yet,  perpetually  under  the  ban  of 
society :  Avhat  is  call  good  society  ridicules  them,  as  absurd, 
weak,  silly,  childish ;  while  the  mulish  and  ignorant  positively 
find  in  them  traits  of  madness  —  latent,  perhaps  —  showing  only 
perversity  and  witlessness  for  a  time,  but  to  be  developed  by 
circumstances ;  and  so,  always  dangerous. 

But  our  Nelly  was  yet  perpetually  affording  other  proofs  to 
those  around  her  of  this  witless  mind,  this  eccentric  will,  this 
dangerous  infirmity  of  brain  and  blood.  We  have  seen  what 
has  been  her  recent  achievement.  Old  Rhodes  and  all  his  gang 
pronounced  it  the  most  mad  scheme  in  the  world,  the  attempt 
to  get  Mat  Floyd  out  of  the  halter,  with  twenty  men  to  guard 


C6  EUTAW. 

him,  by  A  force  of  half-a-dozen  headed  by  a  girl.  He  swore  a 
dozen  pledges  to  extricate  the  culprit  on  his  way  tc  the  swamp, 
but  never  made  the  attempt ;  and,  but  for  the  determined,  and, 
as  it  seemed,  desperate  will  of  the  wild  damsel,  Mat  Floyd 
would  have  been  certainly  hung.  But  Nelly  had  contrived, 
when  Rhodes  and  his  party  were  pursued  by  Watkins,  to  get 
possession,  and  to  conceal  from  their  search,  the  whole  of  that 
treasure  which  was  the  bone  of  struggle  between  the  two  par 
ties.  While  she  held  this  treasure,  Rhodes  and  his  fellows 
were,  perforce,  the  subjects  of  her  will.  They  knew  that,  un 
less  her  will  was  complied  with,  they  would  never  "see  a  stiver 
of  the  spoil ;  and  she  planned  the  rescue  of  her  brother,  and 
effected  it,  as  we  have  seen. 

That,  having  done  this,  she  should  yet  restore,  of  her  own 
free  will,  the  stolen  treasure  to  the  refugees,  was  an  offence  that 
RUodes  could  not  forgive.  He  would  have  scourged  her  from 
their  camp  if  he  had  dared,  but  her  strangeness  of  character  ex 
ercised  a  certain  control  over  even  his  imagination  ;  and  he  too, 
as  well  as  her  sister,  was  not  wholly  unprepared  to  acknowledge 
her  alleged  faculty  of  second  sight.  The  startling  charge  which 
she  had  so  wildly  made  against  him,  of  the  murder  of  an  angel, 
was  of  very  impressive  effect,  even  while  he  strove  to  laugh  it 
off  as  another  proof  of  her  madness.  It  startled  him,  as  well 
because  of  her  discovery  of  a  crime  which  he  had  supposed  un 
known  to  all  but  himself,  as  by  the  curious  details  which  she 
uttered  in  respect  to  the  event.  The  murdered  victim,  he  knew,' 
had  fallen  among  bushes,  which  totall}T  concealed  him  from  all 
eyes  but  his  own.  Had  she  really  beheld  his  spirit  rising  above 
the  bushes,  and  into  the  air,  wearing  the  aspect  of  the  murdered 
youth,  and  pointing  the  eye  of  Heaven  to  his  murderer?  The 
superstitious  query  troubled  the  thought  of  old  Rhodes  that 
night,  long  after  all  the  others  were  asleep. 

It  was  in  the  utterance  of  pretensions  such  as  these,  that 
Nelly  Floyd  still  more  certainly  won  for  herself  the  imputation 
of  insanity.  Let  iis  do  her  justice.  She  herself  urged  no  pre 
tensions  as.  a  seer.  The  utterance  of  such  revelations  as  that  to 
which  we  refer,  was  usually  made  without  premeditation.  It 
was  a  gush  of  speech,  of  which  she  herself  seemed  almost  un 
conscious ;  and  she  asserted  nothing  in  behalf  of  the  strange 


THE   WILD    GIRL'S    CANTER.  67 

power  which  she  rather  seemed  to  exercise  than  to  feel.  She 
was  simply,  on  such  occasions,  a  voice,  sending  oat  the  mystic 
burden  in  her  soul,  or  of  another  soul,  as  if  with  an  impulse 
beyond  any  of  her  own.  That  she  thus  spoke  was  perhaps  a 
snilicicnt  reason  why  she  should  bo  held  not  altogether  wise  — 
somewhat  witless  —  and,  perhaps,  quite  uncanny.  Old  Rhodes 
was  divided  in  his  opinions  whether  to  conceive  her  a  mad  wo 
man  or  a  witch.  He  sometimes  considered  her  a  fool,  as  in  the 
needless  surrender  of  the  treasure  to  the  Florida  refugees;  but 
the  shrewdness,  sagacity,  and  forethought,  which  she  perpetu 
ally  displayed,  made  him  hesitate  about  the  propriety  of  this  epi 
thet.  He  concluded,  usually,  by  elevating  her  foolish  perform 
ances  into  malignant  ones,  when  he  could  not  call  them  madness 

There  were  other  proofs  of  insanity  which  Nelly  Floyd  con 
tinually  gave  to  her  associates.  She  had  little  policy  in  her 
practice.  In  her  speech  she  lacked  prudence.  She  made  no 
calculation  in  respect  to  the  results,  to  herself,  of  what  she  de 
livered.  She  expressed  her  surprise,  her  anger,  her  indignation, 
without  reserve.  She  had  no  measure  in  her  speech  when  hei 
strange  passions  or  sentiments  found  provocation  to  utterance. 
She  never  scrupled  to  denounce  the  crime,  the  cruelty,  the  prac 
tice,  where  it  met  her  disapproval.  She  called  things  by  plain 
English  names.  With  her,  a  lie  was  a  lie,  and  she  so  pro 
claimed  it.  To  the  villain  she  would  say :  "  Beware  I  I  see 
the  halter  ready  for  you  !"  And  she  spoke  as  if  she  did  see  it ; 
and  spoke,  sometimes,  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  the  wretch 
fancy  that  he  saw  it  too  I  To  Rhodes  himself  she  had  always 
predicted  the  halter. 

•'Beware!"  she  Raid  repeatedly  —  "beware,  Jeff  Rhodes,  of 
what  you  do  !  Beware  i  You  have  but  a  little  while  —  but  a 
little  while !  You  have  nearly  reached  the  end  of  the  lane 
where  there  is  no  turn,  Look  up,  where  you  are  —  look  up, 
with  all  your  eyes  —  and  you  see  a  gallows.  You  will  hang, 
Jeff  Rhodes  —  you  will  hang!" 

These  were  unpleasant  predictions,  and  they  always  pro 
duced  commotion  in  the  camp.  Here,  but  for  her  brother,  she 
would  not  have  remained  a  moment.  But  her  fears  for  him  kept 
her  lingering  among  the  outlaws,  from  whose  association  she 
was  ever  striving  to  withdraw  him. 


68  EUTAW. 

"Leave  these  people,  Mat,"  she  would  say;  "leave  them 
They  are  all  doomed.  They  will  all  hang.  I  see  them,  one 
after  another,  as  they  go  to  the  gallows.  And  Moll  will  perish 
too,  but  not  by  such  a  death.  No  !  —  but  it  will  not  be  more 
merciful  —  her  fate.  I  see  you  too,  Mat — you  too,  \?ith  the 
halter  about  your  neck  !  Oh,  come  away  in  time  S  You  will 
escape,  if  you  come  out  from  among  them.  But  if  yon  stay,  Mat 

—  if  you  stay,  only  a  little  while  longer  —  you  will  perish  on 
tie  tree.     I  see  it,  Mat — I  see  it !     I  have  long  seen  it !" 

The  prediction  need  not  have  a  supernatural  origin.  The 
lives  of  the  outlaws ;  the  wretched  condition  of  the  country ; 
the  summary  judgments  usually  executed  by  those  having  the 
mere  power,  irrespective  of  the  laws  or  of  society  ;  the  universal 
recklessness  of  human  life  which  naturally  follows  a  condition 
of  civil  war  —  these  as  naturally  justified  the  prediction,  as 
mere  result  of  human  reasoning,  as  if  it  had  been  indicated  by 
a  supernatural  finger. 

But  Nelly  Floyd  did  not  speak  as  one  who  dealt  in  the  indue 
tive  processes.     Her  speech  was  delivered  as  so  much  evidence 

—  as  that  of  oiie  who  saw  —  before  whose  eyes  the  future  event 
was  even  then  looming  up  with  its    awful,  shadowy  aspects. 

She  was,  accordingly,  fearfully  impressive.  She  startled  and 
made  her  hearers  tremble  for  the  moment.  A  thousand  timec 
had  Mat  Floyd  yielded  to  her  warnings,  and  pledged  himself 
to  make  away  from  the  gang.  But  the  tempter  soon  again 
wound  about  him  with  his  snares ;  and  he  was  involved,  by  his 
ready  impulses,  and  his  unreasoning  blood,  and  by  the  habitual 
sway  of  Rhodes  and  others,  in  new  offences,  at  the  very  mo 
ment  when  he  was  promising  to  break  away  from  the  past.  He 
was  too  weak,  with  such  a  training  as  he  had  had,  to  be  honest 
or  resolved ;  and  he,  too,  after  a  while,  was  fain  to  admit,  even 
against  his  own  instincts,  that  Nelly  Floyd  was  a  half-crazy  wo 
man.  His  real  feelings  taught  him  otherwise.  He  felt  her 
superiority ;  but  his  conscience  needed  that  he  should  declare 
her  witless,  the  better  to  escape  her  censures,  which  he  could 
never  otherwise  answer. 

The  reiterated  expressions  of  all  about  her  had,  at  length,  the 
effect  of  forcing  upon  poor  Nelly  herself  the  question  of  her  own 
sanity. 


THE  WILD  GIRL'S  CANTER. 

Have  you  ever  reflected,  dear  reader,  upon  the  awful 
tions  which  such  a  question  must  necessarily  inspire  in  a  human 
bosom,  when  forced  thus  upon  self-inquest  ?  Can  you  conceive 
its  effect  upon  such  a  creature  as  I  have  described  Nelly  Floyd 
to  be  —  warm,  affectionate,  enthusiastic,  eager,  impulsive  —  hav 
ing  no  conventional  resources  —  aloof,  as  it  were,  from  all  scji- 
ety — forced  to  commune  only  with  those  whom  she  mast  de- 
epise —  educated  in  tastes,  habits,  feelings,  and  associations,  all 
superior  to  and  accordingly  inconsistent  with  her  destinies  in 
life  —  a  just  heart,  a  pure  mind,  exquisite  tastes  —  a  subtle 
fancy,  a  wild  impulse,  an  extraordinary  and  masculine  will,  and 
an  intensity  of  mood  which  wrought  upon  all  her  faculties,  so 
that  all,  in  turn,  seemed  qualities  of  fire  —  seemed  to  glow,  to 
burn,  to  elevate  —  and  thus  wore  perpetually  upon  the  mere 
physique,  so  that  she  ate  but  little  —  scarcely  seemed  to  feel 
the  want  of  food  —  scarcely  knew  limit  to  her  physical  exertion 
—  rode,  ran,  rambled,  apparently  without  fatigue,  and  seemed 
to  rest  only  when  in  motion !  Conceive  the  character  of  the 
girl,  then  imagine  for  yourself  the  effects,  upon  such  a  nature, 
of  such  a  terrible  inquiry. 

It  was  perpetually  forced  upon  her  by  others,  until  at  length 
it  became  a  troubling  and  ever-present  thought  to  herself.  Hi 
ding,  walking — ever,  except  when  in  exciting  action — it  was 
the  one  troublesome  suggestion  of  doubt  and  anxiety.  Even  as 
she  rides  now  —  cantering  through  unfrequented  paths,  through 
great  forest-stretches,  upward,  away  from  the  river  and  the 
Bwarnp,  but  deep  in  thickets,  which,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
population,  were  almost  as  safe  and  silent  harborages  —  she  asks, 
communing  only  with  herself: — 

"  Is  it  true  ?  Am  I  crazed  ?  Is  there  insanity  in  my  blooc* 
and  brain,  as  all  these  people  tell  me  ?  Are  my  actions  ordered 
by  no  reason  ?  Do  I  not  think  as  other  women,  feel  &e  other 
women,  understand  as  quickly,  and  compare  and  act  as  justly  ] 
I  know  not  —  I  know  not !  My  poor  head  !  If  I  am  not  al 
ready  crazed,  they  will  make  me  so,  if  I  keep  with  them  any 
longer.  I  must  break  away  from  them  altogether,  though  I 
leave  Mat  to  his  fate.  My  poor,  foolish  brother !  And  he,  too 
—  he  so  foolish  —  so  easily  led  away  by  that  villain  Hhodes— - 
be,  too,  calls  me  crazy  !  He  sensible,  and  me  crazy  !  I  should 


"0  EUTAW. 

,ike  to  ask  these  people,  if  'twere  not  useless,  what  they  call 
wisdom.  I  can  answer  for  them.  With  Jeff  Rhodes,  it  is  rob- 
nr-ry  and  murder;  and  —  I'm  afraid  it's  pretty  much  the  same 
with  the  rest!  As  for  Molly  Rhodes — but  no!  let  it  pass. 
She  is  my  sister,  but  I  do  not  fed  it.  But  Mat  Floyd  is  my 
brc'jher.  I  grow  to  him,  and  he,  poor,  foolish  brother,  he  has 
a  love  for  me  too,  and  he  knows  that  what  I  tell  him  is  right 

and  true;  and  yet  he  cal.s  me  foolish  !  Foolish and  I 

know  nothing  about  the  business  of  men  !  Men's  business  !  0 
God  of  the  bright  world,  what  a  business  it  is  to  have  the  name 
of  reason !  Here  are  a  thousand  men  slain  in  a  great  battle, 
f»  iid  the  v/isdom  of  man  says  it  is  all  right  and  proper.  And 
•'jjt'ocl  approves,  they  tell  you,  and  says  :  '  Smite  on! — strike  — 
slay  —  butcher  the  creature  I  have  made  in  my  image;  do  not 
faint,  but  butcher  all  the  day,  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  of 
the  sun  !'  And  the  reason  for  this  butchery  is,  that  one  party 
should  rule  the  other.  The  right  to  rule  gives  the  right  to 
butcher.  Oh  !  this  sounds  very  much  like  reason  and  wisdom, 
does  it  ?  They  say  so,  but  I  don't  see  it.  And  here  is  one 
who  crouches  beside  a  bush  and  shoots  down  God's  angels  as 
they  ride  along  the  highways ;  and  the  reason  for  this  is  to  be 
found  in  the  gold  which  the  slain  carries  in  his  pocket!  No! 
it  is  clear  that  I  can  not  reason  as  these  people  do.  Something 
in  my  heart  and  head  tells  me  that  it  is  all  very  wrong  and  very 
horrible.  And  I  persuade  myself  that  /  think  and  reason  !  — 
that  I  do  as  a  right  mind  should  do,  and  feel  according  to  the 
wisdom  of  a  right  heart.  Ah,  if  I  am  mistaken  in  all  this !" 

And  as  she  rode,  at  a  smart  canter,  she  continued  to  solilo 
quize  after  the  same  fashion.  The  habit  of  soliloquizing  —  fre 
quently  talking  with  herself — thinking  aloud  —  was  one  of 
tlioso  which  contributed  also  to  obtain  for  her  the  imputation 
cf  infinity.  But,  without  reproaching  her  for  this  habit,  or  ad- 
witting  the  propriety  of  this  imputation  as  a  consequence  of  it, 
let  us  take  advantage  of  her  spoken  thoughts.  They  will 
probably  afford  us  some  clues  to  her  own  history  as  well  ai 
character  : — 

"  Is  it  because  I  have  been  schooled  differently  from  my  peo 
ple —  that  I  have  read  many  books  —  that  1  have  heard  the 
speech  of  those  who  were  rich,  and  accustomed  to  better  things 


THE   WILD   GIRL'S   CANTEK.  71 

than  my  people  —  that  they  showed  ine  higher  ways,  and  kindei 
and  softer  ways,  and  taught  me  more  gentle  feelings,  and  made 
me  soft  and  weak  like  themselves  ?  That  they  showed  me  a 
class  of  people  who  were  not  upon  the  watch  always  to  get  the 
better  of  others  —  to  trick  and  cheat  them  —  to  envy  the  posses 
sions  which  they  had  not  —  and  hate  the  superiority  which  they 
could  not  reach  ! — 

"  And,  surely,  Lady  Nelson  was  a  very  superior  woman  ;  and 
Bettie  Nelson  was  superior  as  sweet,  and  Sherrod  Nelson  —  he 

—  oh  !  yes,  he  was  superior  !     And  how  beautiful  they  all  were 

—  loving  each  other,  and  speaking  the  truth,  and  ready  always 
to  sacrifice  their  own  pleasures  and  desires  to  please  one  an 
other.     And  why   did  they  take  me  and  teach  me  all  these 
things ;  and  fill  me  with  thoughts  and  feelings  such  as  do  not 
belong  to  my  own  people  1     Why  ?     What  do  they  profit  me 
here?      What   do    they   prove    me   here?  —  mad,   mad,    mad! 
Mad  or  very  foolish.     Oh !  was  it  kind  in  them  to  train  me  to 
this? 

"And  where  can  Lady  Nelson  bo  now?  and  Bettie  —  and  — 
but  I  must  not  ask  after  Sherrod  now  !  What  is  Sherrod  Nel 
son  to  me?  He,  an  officer  in  the  army  —  the  British  army. 
Bnt  where  ?  The  last  time  I  heard  of  them  they  were  all  in 
Florida  —  gone  —  driven  out  by  the  people  !  Why  do  they  not 
come  back,  now  that  the  British  are  ruling  iu  the  country  ? 
Perhaps  they  never  will  return.  Oh  !  dear  Lady  Nelson,  how 
glad  I  should  be  to  see  you  once  again  —  and  you,  clear  little 
Bettie —  but  no!  I  must  not  think  of  him  I  I  must  not"  hope 
to  see  Sherrod  any  more.  To  feel  for  him  as  I  do,  and  wish 
to  k)ok  on  him  —  that — that  —  is  madness! 

"  I  have  looked  on  him  too  often.  But  he  never  saw  me ! 
N^  !  no !  And  now  he's  a  captain  in  the  British  army,  gone, 
perhaps,  to  the  West  Indies,  and  fighting  with  the  French  ! 
Mav  the  good  God  save  and  spare  him  !  May  he  grow  great  and 
be  loved  greatly,  though  he  may  know  nothing  of  the  love  which 
is  lelt  for  him  by  the  poor  wild  girl  of  Edisto,  whom  his  mother 
took  i'ato  her  own  chamber,  and  taught  her  in  her  own  child's 
books,  and  made  so  different  from  her  own  people,  that  they  all 
consider  her  mad.  Oh  !  what  a  life  of  misery  it  is  ! 

"But  I  will  not  be  mad  !     They  shall  not  drive  me  to  it,     I 


72  EUTAW. 

will  leave  them  for  ever.  I  will  see  them  no  more.  I  will  live 
quieJy  with  poor  old  Mother  Ford,  and  help  her  in  the  garden, 
and  help  her  to  spin  and  weave,  and  forget  that  there  are  books, 
and  wise,  beautiful,  sweet  people,  who  have  thoughts  and  man 
ners  not  suited  to  the  wild  life  in  these  lonesome  woods." 

Of  these  glimpses  of  her  past,  which  she  gives  us  in  this  ram 
bling  manner,  we  know  nothing  more.  Of  the  Lady  Nelson  — 
in  that  day  in  America,  it  was  customary  to  call  the  wives  of 
very  wealthy  and  distinguished  persons  by  this  title  —  of  Bettie, 
and  Sherrod  Nelson,  we  hear  from  her  lips  for  the  first  time.  But 
we  can  follow  these  clues  sufficiently  to  form  some  idea  of  the 
peculiar  education  of  the  orphan-girl,  in  the  hands  of  a  liberal, 
wealthy,  and  enlightened  patronage. 

Nelly  Floyd  rode  on,  burying  herself  more  deeply  in  the 
forest  than  before,  yet  pursuing,  all  the  while,  a  little  Indian 
trail,  with  which  her  pony  seems  quite  familiar.  She  gave  him 
the  reins,  and  never  seemed  to  regulate  or  heed  his  progress, 
until  he  brought  her  to  a  little  low  worm  fence,  deep  in  the 
woods,  surrounding  a  small  log  cottage.  Seen  in  the  imperfect 
light  of  the  stars,  it  was  one  of  the  most  humble  of  fabrics  — 
at  once  very  small  and  very  rude  of  construction. 

Nelly  cantered  round  the  house  to  its  rear  —  took  off  a  small 
sack  which  she  had  carried  before  her — took  off  saddle  and 
bridle,  then  dismissed  the  horse,  in  so  many  words,  as  if  he 
understood  every  syllable  : — 

"  Go  now,  Aggy,  until  I  want  you  in  the  morning." 

And  she  patted  neck  and  head,  and  sent  the  beast  off  witb 
a  gentle  slap,  which  he  seemed  to  take  as  a  farther  proot  oi 
affection :  for  he  lifted  his  ears  and  head,  rubbed  his  no^e 
against  her  cheek,  and,  with  a  lively  whinny,  scampered  off 
into  the  well-known  thickets. 

"He  doesn't  think  me  mad,"  said  the  wild  girl  as  she  bounded 
over  the  fence,  having  first  laid  within  it  the  sack,  saddle  and 
bridle.  Taking  the  former  up  in  her  hands,  she  approached  t»ie 
hovel,  to  which  she  brought,  finally,  all  her  trappings,  and  laid 
them  down  in  a  very  rickety  piazza. 

The  rude  little  fabric  lay  in  darkness.  All  was  silent.  The 
girl  rapped  at  the  door  and  called  out : — 

"  It's  me,  mother.      It's  Xi-lly  Floyd." 


THE    WILD    GIRL'S   CANTER.  73 

"  Ah,  Nelly,  I  had  a-most  given  you  up,"  was  the  salutation 
of  Mother  Ford,  within,  as  she  undid  the  fastenings  of  the 
door.  "  What  kept  you  so  late  ?  You'll  git  into  trouble  some 
of  these  nights,  when  you're  a  riding  in  the  dark  so  late." 

"  Oh  !  who's  to  trouble  me,  mother  1" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  but  these  awful  sodgers  a  skirring  about 
for  plunder  all  the  time,  they're  not  the  easiest  folks  to  manage 
when  you  meet  'em.  And  you  a  young  gal  creature  too." 

"  Oh  !  never  you  fear.  I'm  quick  to  see,  mother,  and  a  sharp 
rider ;  and,  little  as  he  is,  it  takes  a  quick  horse  to  get  ahead 
of  Aggy.  Besides,  I've  nothing  to  plunder.  I've  brought  you 
a  sack  of  potatoes,  mother,  as  it's  pretty  hard  feeding  every 
where  just  now." 

"  And  thank  you,  too,  my  child.  I'm  sometimes  hard  run 
for  a  bite,  and  ef  'twa'n't  for  them  Halliday  children,  I'm  afeard 
I'd  sometimes  be  in  a  broad  road  to  starvation.  There's  a-most 
nothing  in  the  garden.  The  potatoes  ha'n't  turned  out  nothing, 
and  ain't  likely  to  turn  out  nothing,  and  the  corn  kain't  be  got 
ground  easy,  except  when  young  Halliday  gits  a  chaince  to  go 
to  mill.  I've  been  forced  to  eat  big  hominy  for  the  last  ten 
days." 

"  And  not  such  bad  eating  either,  mother,"  said  the  girl 
"  But  I'll  work  for  you,  and  see  if  we  can't  put  the  garden  in 
order.  I've  come  to  stay  with  you  for  awhile,  and  see  what 
can  be  done.  I'm  strong,  you  know,  and  can  hoe  the  corn,  and 
gather  the  ireas,  and  do  a  little  spinning  and  weaving  for  you, 
and  ride  to  mill  too,  when  there's  need  of  it.  Between  me  and 
Aggy,  we  shall  get  you  a  good  sa?k  of  grist  before  the  week's 
out." 

"I  thank  you,  my  child.  I  know  you're  willing/and  you're 
strong  too,  but  you  ain't  quite  up  to  the  notion  of  real  hard  work. 
I  reckon  your  book-learning  has  sp'iled  you  a  little  for  that." 

"  Never  you  believe  it,  mother."  And  the  wild  girl  could 
not  but  think,  at  the  moment,  of  the  curious  horror  of  book- 
learning,  and  the  strong  tendency  to  disparage  it,  which  is  a  too 
common  characteristic  of  the  ignorant.  Envy,  by  the  way,  has 
not  a  little  to  do  with  this  tendency. 

"Never  you  believe  it,  mother.     It  hasn't  weakened  me  iu 
body,  and  it  hasn't  made  ray  mind  less  willing." 
.       4 


74  EUTAW.- 

"  But  your  fingers  ain't  quite  so  spry  and  quick  at  the  labors 
of  common  people." 

"You  think  not,  mother!"  and  the  girl  laughed  out  merrily 
as  the  memory  suddenly  flashed  over  her  thought,  reminding 
her  of  the  dexterity  with  which,  that  very  night,  her  hands  had 
cut  down  a  man  from  the  gallows;  an  adventure  from  which  all 
but  herself  had  shrunk. 

"  Why  what  do  you  laugh  at  so,  Nelly  ?     What  tickles  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  nothing,  mother ;  but  I  wonder  what  poor  Mat  Floyd 
would  say  if  you  were  to  speak  to  him  so  slightingly  of  my 
fingers,  and  what  they  can  do." 

"  Why,  what  would  he  say,  Nelly,  and  why  do  you  call  him 
poor  Mat  ?" 

"  Ah  !  don't  ask  me,  mother.  Mat's  poor  enough,  and  I'm 
poor  enough,  and  we're  all  poor  enough,  and  Heaven  knows 
whether  we  shall  any  of  us  be  any  better  off  than  we  are.  If 
we  are  not  worse  it  will  be  a  mercy  !  Poor  Mat  will  break  my 
heart,  mother,  for  I  can't  get  him  away  from  those  people 
They  are  marching  him  to  the  gallows,  step  by  step,  and  the 
boy  sees  nothing.  Oh  !  mother,  it's  enough  to  drive  me  mad." 

"  Stay  a  bit,  child,  till  I  fling  a  few  more  knots  of  lightwood 
upon  the  fire,  we  shall  be  in  the  dark  presently ;  and  I  always 
likes  to  see  the  face  of  a  person  when  I'm  a  speaking  to  'em, 
or  hearing  them  speak.  It  seems  to  enlighten  a  body  as  to 
the  true  sense  of  what  the  person  is  a  saying.  Stay  a  bit, 
Nelly." 

"  Let  me  do  it,  mother." 

"  No,  Nelly,  it's  jest  as  easy  for  me." 

But  Nelly  had  already  performed  the  task.  She  knew  where 
the  lightwood  lay,  in  a  box  in  a  corner  of  the  hovel,  arid  in  a 
moment,  the  feeble  flicker  of  light  in  the  fireplace,  from  brands 
nearly  burned  down,  was  exchanged  for  a  rich,  cheering  blaze, 
such  as,  in  those  days  when  gas  was  not  —  good  fat  lightwood 
only  could  afford.  The  room  —  the  only  one  in  the  cabin  — 
fairly  lightened  up  in  all  its  recesses,  unveils  itself,  with  all  its 
petty  and  poor  possessions  fully  to  our  eyes.  Let  us  look  around 
us,  for,  in  those  days,  just,  such  hovels  sheltered  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  those  pioneers  of  civilization,  who  had  been 
gradually  spreading  away  from  *ho  Atlantic  for  the  Apalachian 


THE   WILL    *£iiL,  3   CANTER.  '\» 

and  only  stopping  short  when  within  sight  of  the  gloomy  heights 
of  the  red  men  of  Cherokee.  Just  such  a  hovel  as  that  of 
Mother  Ford,  formed  house  and  fortress  for  the  scattered  bor 
derers  of  the  southern  interior,  from  the  waters  of  the  Potomac 
to  those  of  the  Altamaha — from  the  ranges  of  Powhatan,  to 
ihose  of  Atta  Kulla-Kulla  ! 


CHAPTER   VXI. 

LOG    CABIN    PHILOSOIH*. 

THAT  chamber  —  it  was  hall  and  chamber  both — the  whole 
dwelling  had  but  a  single  apartment — may  have  been  sixteen 
by  twenty  feet  in  size.  It  was  of  bare  logs,  the  crevices  filled 
up  by  clay.  Its  rafters  were  naked  to  the  eye.  It  had  no  loft 
— no  flooring  above.  The  chimney  was  of  clay,  with  its  nozzle 
scarce  a  foot  lifted  above  the  roof,  the  ends  of  which  were  thor 
oughly  begrimed  by  its  smoke.  Within,  the  aspect  was  wretch 
edly  poor,  like  the  outside.  In  one  corner  stood  the  rude  couch 
of  the  aged  widow,  a  rough  stout  frame  of  oak.  The  mattress  was 
of  moss ;  old  and  worn,  and  in  tatters,  but  still  carefully  pre 
served  and  scrupulously  clean,  was  the  quilt  spread  over  it  —  a 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches.  There  was  a  shelf  over  the  fire 
place,  on  which  were  ranged  a  dozen  empty  physic  bottles,  a 
cup  and  bowl.  A  pine  beaufit,  without  doors,  exhibited  a  ridic 
ulous  array  of  crockery,  cups  and  saucers,  plates  and  pitchers, 
most  of  them  fractured — few  fit  for  use  —  relics  of  a  past  the 
comforts  of  which  they  seemed  to  mock  with  their  grinning  and 
broken  edges.  Two  or  three  pewter  spoons  complete  the  in 
ventory.  Opposite  the  bed  in  another  corner,  was  the  unwieldly 
old  fashioned  loom.  There  Avere  two  spinning-wheels,  three 
chairs  of  oaken  staves,  covered  with  hides.  And  here  you  have 
",he  whole  catalogue.  And  there,  alone  and  poor,  lived  this 
aged  woman ;  and  she  lived  in  safety.  She  had  nothing  with 
which  to  tempt  cupidity  —  she  was  not  in  the  way  to  provoke 
malice.  As  she  herself  said  : — 

"  I  have  no  husband,  no  son,  to  go  out  and  find  enemies,  and 


LOG    CABIN   PHILOSOPHY.  77 

bring  'cm  Lome  hcrii  with  sword  and  fire !  It's  nothing  tLat 
one  can  rob  me  of.  What  can  they  get  from  me  but  an  old 
woman's  curse  instead  of  blessing  ?  And  wLat  a  fool  ho  m^st 
be  that  can  come  for  that." 

Mother  Ford  was  no  bad  philosoplier.  In  Ler  day  she  had 
been  a  sTTrewd,  sensible  housewife — thrifty,  careful,  industrious, 
energetic,  but  —  poor  always  !  We  need  not  ask  why,  with 
these  virtues,  she  should  be  poor.  It  is  enough  that  it  is  writ 
ten — the  poor  shall  never  die  out  of  the  land.  And  well  for 
man  that  it  is  so  written  !  What  a  terrible  condition  of  poverty 
would  prevail  in  a  region  where  everybody  is  rich !  What  a 
world  of  utter  selfishness,  and  so  of  utter  destitution ! 

Mother  Ford  did  not  repine  because  of  her  poverty.  She  was 
a  stern  woman,  somewhat,  but  very  cheerful,  nevertheless ;  with 
rough  manners,  but  a  genial  heart.  A  tall  meagre  frame  of 
seventy,  perhaps ;  long,  sallow,  skinny  face,  deeply  furrowed 
by  the  plough  of  time ;  long,  bony  arms,  still  sinewy,  and  a 
keen  black  eye  still  shining  in  her  head. 

While  Nelly  Floyd  was  flinging  the  brands  upon  the  fire,  the 
old  woman  smoothed  out  her  apron  —  white  homespun  over  a 
blue  homespun  frock  —  seated  herself  in  a  well-worn  rocking- 
chair,  of  domestic  manufacture  —  a  rude  oaken  frame,  the  seat 
of  which,  a  tightly  stretched  ox-hide,  still  showed  some  of  the 
hairs,  unworn,  along. the  edges.  Here,  while  Nelly  Floyd  poured 
forth  her  griefs,  Mother  Ford  commenced  a  see-sawing  motion, 
which  we  have  frequently  observed  to  be  a  process  among  an 
cient  ladies,  for  bringing' the  mind  to  bear,  with  proper  efficien 
cy,  on  some  troublesome  domestic  problem.  Her  face  told  the 
same  story,  of  grave  doubt  and  difficulty  in  the  case  ;  and  might 
Lave  suggested  some  notions  of  severe  censure  yet  to  follow. 
Ih.it  never  did  listener  receive  intelligence  with  so  patient  an 
ear,  and  with  so  few  interruptions.  She  suffered  Nelly  to  get 
through  the  whole  story  of  her  griefs.  Then,  after  a  pause  : — 

"  I'd  be  most  mighty  sorry,  Nelly,  ef  Mat  Floyd  should  come 
to  each  harm  aa  you  speak  of;  though  that's  always  a  danger 
from  the  Bort  of  company  he  keeps.  I  dandled  the  boy  upon 
these  knees  when  he  was  a  baby  in  the  lap ;  and  I  loved  his 
and  your  own  poor  mother,  as  ef  she  was  ray  own  sister.  Sho's 
an  angel  no\v  in  heaven,  Nelly." 


78  EUTAW. 

The  girl  slipped  down  from  her  chair,  and  crept  up  silently 
to  the  old  woman,  nestling  close  beside  her  as  she  listened. 

"  She  was  not  the  mother  of  Molly  Floyd,  you  know.  Ah  J 
that  first  wife  of  old  Mat  Floyd,  was  a  different  sort  of  creature, 
Molly  is  mighty  like  her  in  everything;  only  she  ain't  got  the 
same  sperrit.  That  first  wife  led  your  father  a  mighty  miser 
able  sort  of  life ;  and  kept  his  house,  and  himself  too,  pretty 
much  in  hot  water.  'Twa'n't  no  case  of  broken-heart  for  him, 
I  tell  you,  when  she  was  carried  out  of  his  cabin  foot  foremost ! 
But  he  took  warning  by  her  temper;  and  when  he  looked  out 
for  another  wife,  he  got  an  angel — a  little  too  much  of  an  angel 
—  though  I  say  it  of  your  own  father,  Nelly,  yet  I  have  to  say 
it  —  a  lettle  too  much  of  an  angel  for  him.  He  never  knowd 
her  valley,  child,  till  he  lost  her;  and  then  his  conscience 
troubled  him,  as  he  told  me  himself,  for  ths  hard  words  —  ay, 
Nelly,  and  the  hard  blows— that  he  gave  her." 

"He  didn't  strike  her,  mother?  No!  no!  don't  tell  me 
that !" 

"  It's  a  sad  truth,  Nelly,  but  he  did !  But  he  was  mighty  re 
pentant.  And  lie  took  on  mightily  after  she  was  gone.  She 
died  suddently,  you  know,  jest  like  a  flash.  The  doctors  said 
'twas  disease  of  the  heart;  and  you,  and  Mat,  were  the  only 
two  children  she  had.  Then  Molly  began  to  ill-use  you  both. 
She  was  the  oldest  and  the  biggest,  and  she  soon  got  to  be  sich 
a  ruler  that  there  was  no  peace  for  you  two.  I  don't  know  that 
you  can  remember  it.  But  I  heard  how  things  went,  and  that 
made  me  bold  to  go  to  your  father,  and  claim  his  last  wife's 
children.  Your  mother,  you  see,  had  as  good  as  given  you  both 
to  me,  and  your  father  know'd  it.  But  he  worn't  quite  willing, 
until  he  heard  how  Molly  was  a-beating  you,  and  ho  couldn't 
purtect  you,  for  he  was  half  the  time  in  the  woods  or  apon  tho 
river.  So  he  gin  you  both  up  to  me,  and  we  was  all  a-getting 
on  mighty  well,  for  we  was  quite  a  happy  family,  and,  in  them 
clays,  I  had  something  to  go  upon.  I  worn't  quite  so  bad  off  as 
I  am  now.  But,  after  a- while,  your  father  got  work  somowiiy 
off,  down  south,  and  upon  the  salts,  with  a  grand  rich  gentleman, 
or,  as  they  called  him  in  those  days,  the  old  Landgrave — Land 
grave —  what's  the  name  V 

"  Landgrave  Nelson  1" 


LOG-CABIN    PHILOSOPHY.  79 

<4Ye?,  that's  tlie  name— ^Landgrave  Nelson.  Well,  you  sec 
your  father  got  employment  with  him,  awl  worked  faithful ;  and 
the  landgrave  took  a  liking  to  him  ;  and  he  let  on  to  the  land 
grave  about  you  two  children  ;  and,  I  reckon,  did  paint  you 
both  up  mighty  fine — you  in  preticklar —  for  old  Mat  did  think 
a  mighty  great  deal  of  you,  Nelly,  and  said  you  was  BID  art  as  a 
flash  and  jest  as  bright.  But  it's  nateral  enough  for  a  father  tc 
think  so  of  his  own  child,  and  the  young  ono  too;  and  so,  the 
old  landgrave's  wife  —  a  mighty  fine  lady  as  over  I  see —  she 
thought  it  a  nice  thing  to  get  you  to  be  a  company  for  her  own 
darter  —  a  good-natured  child,  and  full  of  play — " 

"  Dear  Bettie,"  murmured  Nelly,  while  a  big  round  tear  kept 
b welling  and  swelling  in  her  eye  till  it  almost  blinded  h^r. 

"  Yes,  Bettie  was  the  child's  name.  So,  once  upon  a  time, 
when  they  was  a  travelling  out  toward  the  Congarees  — where 
we  was  a-living  then,  to  see  some  of  their  kin,  and  to  buy  some 
fresh  lands  I  reckon  — they  come,  the  landgrave  and  the  lady 
and  Bettie  —  they  all  come  together,  in  a  grand  coach  and  six, 
with  four  outriders,  in  green  and  gold  —  and  ifter  a  good  deal 
of  palaver,  to  make  me  sensible  of  the  rood  twas  to  do  to  you, 
they  carried  you  off.  It  was  a  ha  \1  pull  upon  my  feelings, 
Nelly,  to  make  me  give  you  up  ;  arid  I  cried  bitter,  I  tell  you, 
when  I  seed  the  coach  driving  off;  but  I  reasoned  it  out,  and  I 
give  in ;  but  'twas  bitter,  bitter,  that  day,  Nelly,  my  child,  for 
you  had  got  to  be  like  my  own ;  and  ef  I  hadn't  a-thought  it 
for  your  good,  Nelly,  no  landgrave  woman  in  the  world  should 
have  had  you !  No  !  I'd  ha'  died  first !  But  she  told  me  about 
your  education;  and  she  said  —  what  we  all  know'd- — that  you 
was  a  mighty  smart  child  —  and  she  spoke  of  what  ought  to  be 
done  for  you,  and  what  she  could  do  ;  and  her  own  little  girl — " 

"  Bettie — dear  little  Bettie  !" 

"Yes,  that  was  her  name  —  she  hung  on  to  you,  and  would 
have  you  git  into  the  coach  with  her  —  and  so  the  great  lady 
had  it  all  her  own  way." 

"  She  was  a  good  lady,  mother." 

"  Yes,  -I'm  not  a  gainsaying  that,  Nelly,  my  child.  She  looked 
good,  and  she  put  more  than  twenty  guineas  in  my  hand,  for  the 
use  of  the  boy,  young  Mat,  and  myself;  and  I  reckon  she  meant 
to  do  right.  But  what  made  her  send  you  off,  Nelly,  when  sb*i 


80  EUTAW. 

had  raised  you  to  be  one  of  her  own  family,  ai.d  made  you 
1'arned  in  books,  and  full  of  the  onderstandiug  of  strange  things 
that  cVni't  suit  the  poor  people  of  our  country  ]" 

"  She  didn't  send  me  oil,  mother.  It  was  my  own  will.  They 
had  to  leave  the  state,  mother,  when  the  Revolution  broke  out, 
for  the  landgrave  wouldn't  favor  the  patriots,  and  take  up  arms 
against  his  king — " 

"  More  fool  he  !  What's  a  British  king,  that  he  should  rule 
here  in  America,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  as  if  we  couldn't  make 
our  OAvn  kings,  if  we  wanted  them !  But  we  don't  want  kings 
at  all,  no  more  than  the  Jewrs  in  scripture.  Kings  is  given  as  a 
judgment.  The  landgrave  might  have  stayed  and  kept  his 
own,  and  not  let  himself  be  driven  out  in  his  old  age,  and  when 
he  was  fixed  so  comfortable,  like  any  prince  on  his  estates." 

"But,  mother,  he  could  only  have  remained  by  joining  the 
patriots." 

"  Well,  and  why  couldn't  he  do  t!iat  ?" 

"Perhaps  he  didn't  think  it  right,  mother"  —  but,  lest  this 
argument  should  not  avail  with  the  old  lady,  she  added  quickly 
—  "and  if  he  had  done  so,  mother,  he  would  have  lost  all,  £br, 
you  see,  the  king's  soldiers  are  everywhere  in  possession  of 
everything." 

"  That's  true  —  that's  true.  The  more's  the  pity,  Nelly.  I'm 
lure  I'm  for  the  country,  and  them  that  lives  in  it,  and  works  it, 
and  I  don't  see  why  we  should  have  masters  sent  for  us  from 
over  the  great  water.  Ah,  Nelly,  ef  I  had  husband  or  son,  I'd 
have  'em  fighting  now,  under  the  Swamp-Fox  or  the  Game- 
Cock ;  and  it  did  vex  me  to  the  heart  to  find  that  Mat  Floyd 
had  gone  out,  at  the  instigation  of  that  old  villain  Rhodes,  and 
j'ined  himself  to  the  inimy.  I'm  afraid,  Nelly,  you  had  some- 
tiling  to  do  with  that." 

"  I'm  afraid  so  too,  mother." 

"  And  what  made  you  speak  for  the  British  side,  Nelly  ? 
What  had  you  to  do  with  it,  taking  sides  agin  your  own  coun 
try  1" 

"  Ah,  mother,  when  I  knew  that  Sherrod  Nelson  was  an  offi 
cer  of  the  British,  I  was  afraid  that  Mat  might  some  day  be 
<alled  upon  to  fight  with  him,  and  that  they  might  kill  each 
other!" 


LOG-CABIN   PHILOSOPHY.  81 

"  Yon  were  a  foolish  child,  Nelly,  The  chance  wasn't  oae 
in  a  thousand  that  they'd  ever  lift  we'pon  agin  each  other." 

"  But  there  was  one  chance,  mother,  and  I  saw  that.  I  didn't 
wish  Mat  to  go  out  at  all." 

"  He  couldn't  help  it ;  he  had  to  do  it.  Every  man  in  Caio- 
lina,  that's  able,  has  to  go  out,  ar  d  lend  a  hand  to  the  work,  one 
side  or  the  other,  as  you  see ;  and  when  that's  the  case,  the  safe 
rule,  and  the  right  reason,  is  to  stand  up  for  the  sile  [soil)  that 
gives  you  bread.  It  was  a  great  mistake,  Nelly,  and  I'd  give 
a  good  deal  ef  I  could  make  Mat  break  off  from  the  Flurrida 
riffigees,  and  j'ine  himself  to  one  of  our  parties  —  Marion  or 
Sumter,  I  don't  care  which  —  and  make  himself  a  free  white 
man  agin,  having  the  right  onderstanding  that  freedom  means 
the  right  to  stand  up  agin  the  world,  in  defence  of  one's  own 
sile." 

"  Oh,  mother,  if  I  could  get  him  away  from  all  fighting — -" 
'•  But  'you  kaint  hope  for  that,  Nelly,  so  long  as  there's  an 
inimy  in  the  land.     It's  not  the  part  of  a  man  to  skulk  out  of 
sight  till  the  country's  free  from  all  its  mimics." 

"  But  oh,  mother,  I  see  what  you  don't  sec  !  I  see  him  tied, 
and  dragged  to  the  tree :  I  see  him  struggling  to  break  away, 
I  see  the  strong  men  pulling  him  to  death.  I  see  him  lifted  up 
in  air,  and' all  black  in  the  face,  with  the  horrid  rope  about  his 
neck." 

"Hev'  you  seen  them  signs  agin,  Nelly  ?"  demanded  the  old 
woman  seriously. 

"  Yes,  twice,  thrice,  have  I  seen  it,  in  broad  daylight,  and 
when  I've  been  thinking  of  other  things." 

"  It's  an  awful,  fearsome  gift  you  hev',  Nelly,  and  it's  but 
right  that  you  should  pray,  all  the  time,  to  the  great  Lord  that 
rules  above  in  heaven,  to  spare  ...your  sight  from  such  dreadful 
seeings.     But,  a'ter  all,  Nelly,  it  mout  be  only  a  sort  of  dream 
ing,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No,  no,  mother !  it's  when  I'm  awake,  in  the  broad  day 
light,  that  I  have  seen  this  and  other  dreadful  spectacles." 

"  I  don't  know.  There's  a  sort  of  waking,  Nelly,  that's  very 
much  like  dreaming  —  when  the  eyes  may  be  open,  maybe,  but 
when  the  sight's  looking  innard,  upon  the  troublesome  thoughts 
that's  a-working  in  the  brain.  Now,  Nelly,  all  your  thoughts 


82  ETJTAW. 

and  feclin's  work  more  lively  and  active  than  with  most  other 
people.  Yon  think  at  a  flash,  and  feel,  as  I  may  say,  like  a 
bird  a-flying  in  the  bright  air.  You're  quick,  mighty  quick,  in 
these  ways ;  and  you  talk  sometimes,  and  sing  out  suddent,  just 
upon  things  that  nobody  else  is  talking  or  thinking  about." 

"  Is  there  anything-  strange  in  that,  mother?"  asked  the  girl 
ID  low  but  earnest  tones. 

"  Well,  no  —  only  it's  a  leetle  different  from  the  ways  of 
other  people.  It  don't  seem  as  if  you  considerated  the  folks 
about  you  always  —  it's  as  if  you  forgot  'em  sometimes,  and 
talked  with  yourself,  or  with  some  one  that  nobody  else  could 
see,  and  about  things  that  nobody  else  was  a-thinking  about. 
That's  the  strangeness  of  it,  Nelly." 

"And  would  you  call  that  madness,  mother — craziness?"  in 
very  low,  husky  accents. 

"  Craziness  ?  —  madness  ?  No  !  What  makes  you  think 
that  V 

"  Oh,  mother — "  with  a  burst  of  anguish  —  "  that  is  the  great 
terror  of  my  soul !  It  is,  that  I  have  the  seeds  of  madness  in 
me !  It  is,  that  I  talk  dreams  and  nonsense,  and  persuade 
myself  that  shadows  are  substances,  and  the  merest  fancies  are 
substantial  things;  that  my  brain  is  unsound  ;  that  —  that  —  the 
day  may  come  when  I  shall  rave  —  rave  —  perhaps  do  mischief; 
and  then,  that  they  will  chain  my  limbs,  and  bar  me  up  in  a  hor 
rid  dungeon  with  iron  gratings  to  the  windows ;  when  I  shall 
never  feel  motion  on  tho  bright  earth,  and  get  no  air,  no  light 
from  the  blessed  sun  in  heaven  !" 

And,  sobbing  wildly,  the  poor  girl  buried  her  face  in  the  lap 
of  tho  aged  woman. 

"  Why,  Nelly,  child,  what's  put  all  this  nonsense-stuff  in  your 
head  ?" 

"  Oli,  mother,  they  call  me  mad  already !" 

"  Who  calls  you  mad  ?" 

"Jeff  Rhodes—" 

"  He's  a  beast,  and  a  brute,  and  worse  than  a  heathen  Injin. 
He'd  as  soon  sculp  you  as  call  you  mad.  He's  brute  enough  for 
anything." 

"  And  Molly  Rhodes  says  I'm  light-headed." 

"  And  she's  a  pudding-head,  with  no  more  brains  than  a  peck 


LOG-CABIN  PHILOSOPHY.  83 

of  bran  !  She's  a  pretty  piece  of  impudence,  with  such  a  thick 
skull  as  she's  got,  to  find  fault  with  a.n.yb  >dy's  sense  !" 

"But  Mat,  too  —  even  poor  }Jf\\  v;ho  really  does  love  me  — 
even  Mat  thinks  ine  foolish." 

"  Mat,  Mat!  don't  speak  to  me  of  Mat,  and  what  he  thinks, 
Nelly.  If  he  had  anything  in  Ms  own  skull  that  a  gimlet-bore 
could  git  at,  would  V,  ;>c  -!-..-h  a  fool  as  to  follow  the  track  of 
sicli  a  raspscallion  as  Jeff  Hhodes  ?  What's  tho  thinking  of  all 
sich  people  to  you?  Now,  tell  ma,  did  tli3  great  landgrave 
think  you  crazy  ?  Did  he  ?" 

"  He  never  said  so,  mother." 

"  Well,  belike,  he  had  not  much  to  say  to  you.  nor  you  to 
him;  but  the  lady  landgrave,  Madame  Nelson  —  did  she  ever 
let  on  that  she  thought  you  crazy,  eh  f ' 

"Never,  never!  oh,  no  —  never!" 

"  And  ef  she  had  thought  so,  would  she  ever  have  kept  you, 
for  seven  good  years  and  more,  in  companyship  with  her  only 
darter,  and  she  an  heiress  to  thousands?  The  thing's  onrea- 
sonable.  And  ef  tke.y  never  found  you  out  to  be  mad,  and  I 
never  found  you  out  tc  be  mad,  what's  the  valley  of  Jeff  Rhodes's 
thinking  —  the  old  gray  headed  villain  ?  —  and  what's  the  valley 
of  what  Molly  Rhodes  thinks,  the  sap-headed  sulk? — for  she's 
jest  that;  and,  as  for  poor  Mat  —  it's  no  use  talking,  Nolly,  the 
boy's  foolish,  and  hain't  got  sense  enough  to  stick  to  a  right 
id-5-3.  I'm  sorry  for  him.  I  don't  quarrel  with  him.  I  love 
the  boy,  for  I  helped  to  raise  him  ;  but  he's  been  pervarted 
from  all  my  raising ;  and  nor/  the  chance  is,  that  he's  in  a  fair 
road  for  all  them  horn  dangers  0:st  you  see.  None  of  these 
people's  tc  be  valleyed  for  the  matter  of  their  thinking.  You're 
nol  sc  mad  as  the  sensiblest  among  ';~iem ;  and  you've  got  more 
true  human-natur  sense,  Ny.l/,  than  half  the  people  that  1 
knows.  For,  what's  the  right  reason  ?  To  do  good ;  to  love 
them  that  spitefully  uses  you ;  to  try  always  to  make  things 
better  for  people,  and  people  better  for  things  ;  and  to  go  through 
the  world  planting  fruits  and  flowers  along  the  track,  and  pulling 
up  the  thorns  :  and  that,  Nolly  dear,  is  jest  the  thing  —  'cording 
to  what  I  sees  —  that  you've,  been  a-doing,  ever  sence  you  was 
knee-high.  And  it's  in  yon,  Nelly,  to  be  doing  so  as  lopg  as 
you  kin  go.  You'-.-  it.  Call  that  oraziness  i 


34  E-JTAW. 

Lord,  be  marciful !  but  ef  that's  craziness,  may  the  Ke^ced  Lord 
change  all  our  wise  people  into  crazy  people,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  !  That's  my  pray,  this  very  night." 

Mother  Ford's  argument  was  probably  qui-e  as  efficient  as 
that  of  the  wisest  moral  philosopher  could  have  been.  It  wan 
to  the  purpose — rough,  but  salient,  practical,  well-applied,  and 
impressive.  The  old  woman  continued  :— 

"One  thing,  Nelly  dear  —  it's  sart'in  you're  a  very  different 
j.<jrson  from  most  of  them  you  hev'  to  do  with  You've  got  an 
edication  that  puts  you  above  them ;  and  so,  hafe  the  time,  you're 
a-talking  to  them  strange  and  onreasonable  things.  For,  you 
know,  them  things  that  we  don't  know,  and  don't  care  nothing 
about,  are  always  onreasonable.  And,  then,  you  are  strange, 
besides,  in  your  natur',  Nelly ;  and  that's  bekaise  you've  got 
strange  gifts,  Nelly.  I  ain't  the  person  to  deny  the  gifts  that 
you've  got,  Nelly ;  and  though,  sometimes,  it  does  seem  to  me 
as  ef  you  was  a-dreaming  of  what  you  tells  me  —  of  what  you 
see  —  of  sperrits  and  angels  —  yet  I  would  be  a  most  impudent 
old  fool  to  be  saying  'twan't  so.  I  believe  in  sperrits,  my  child, 
I  don't  see  why  sperrits  kain't  show  themselves  in  our  times, 
as  they  did  in  the  times  of  the  heathens  and  the  apostles.  It's 
for  God  to  say;  and  ef  he  finds  it  needful  to  use  sperrits,  I 
reckon  he  won't  stop  to  ax  us  poor  ignorant  creatur's  what  we 
thinks  about  it.  I've  never  seen  a  sperrit  myself,  but  I've  hearn 
strange  things  all  about  the  house,  at  sart'in  times  of  the  year, 
that's  made  the  hair  to  rise  on  my  forehead,  as  it  did  on  Job's 
forehead,  that  you  road  about  in  the  blessed  book.  But  my 
mother  had  a  gift  like  yourn,  Nelly." 

"  And  did  she  evei  see  ?" 

"  Yes,  more  than  ones  !  I  remember,  once  upon  a  time,  when 
I  was  with  her,  and  me  only  a  little  child,  I  had  a  sort  of  sight- 
gift  my  own  self,  but  'twas  only  that  once.  We  were  living  on 
the  Santee,  that  time,  and  my  father  had  a  little  property 
there.  One  day,  a  strange  gentleman,  named  Sylvester,  came 
to  see  him  about  running  some  land  [surveying  for  entry] ;  and 
mother  called  me  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the  two  men  together. 
We  walked  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  off  to  the  stables ;  and,  as 
we  turned  down  a  lane  behind  the  stables,  we  seed  father,  plain 
enough,  a- walking  by  himself.  Mother  called  out  to  him,  but 


LOG-CABIN   PHILOSOPHY.  H5 

he  made  no  answer.  He  kept  on,  crossed  the  lane,  and  went 
out  of  sight  into  the  woods.  We  went  back  hom-e,  and  there 
found  father  and  Mr.  Sylvester,  a-setting  together,  jest  where 
we  had  left  them.  Then  mother  ups,  and  says  — 

"  '  Why,  how  did  you  git  back  before  us  V 

"  '  Git  back  V  says  father ;  '  I  hain't  been  away  from  this 
fireside.' 

"  Mother  then  tells  him  what  she  seed,  and  what  I  seed. 

"  '  I  called  to  you/  she  said,  '  and  you  went  into  the  woods 
without  a  word.' 

"  '  It's  my  appairationS  said  my  father  —  I  remember  them's 
the  very  words  —  and  he  went  on  to  say,  'It's  a  sign  I'm  not 
to  live  long.' 

"  And,  sure  enough,  though  jest  then  a  most  hearty  person, 
without  an  ache  or  a  complaint,  he  died  of  pieuricy  :a  less  than 
three  months  a'ter.  I  remember  another  mighty  strange  thing, 
Nelly,  that  happened  to  mother  when  I  was  a  child,  not  more 
than  nine  years  old.  There  was  a  poor,  young  widow  woman, 
named  Rachel  Moore,  that  died  on  the  Santee,  near  us,  and  left 
a  little  girl,  quite  onbefriended,  about  seven  years  old.  My 
mother  took  the  poor  little  orphin  home  with  her  a'ter  the  fu 
neral,  and  did  for  her  jest  the  same  as  she  did  for  me.  And  wo 
had  her  with  us  more  than  a  year,  when,  all  of  a  suddent,  there 
come  an  uncle  up  from  the  salts  [seaside],  and  claimed  her, 
and  took  little  Rachel  off  to  live  with  his  own  family.  We 
missed  the  child  very  much,  and  only  two  days  a'ter,  when  we 
was  walking  in  the  garden,  there  came  up  a  sudden  shower, 
though  we  couldn't  see  a  single  cloud  in  the  sky. 

"  '  It's  a-raining,'  said  my  mother;  but  I  felt  none  of  the  rain, 
and  it  stopped  as  suddent  as  it  began ;  and,  a  minute  after, 
mother  said : — 

" '  Why,  child,  you're  all  sprinkled  with  blood  !  —  and  so 
am  I !' 

"  She  went  on,  as  she  seed  the  same  bloody  'jpots  ad  over  her 
own  frock,  as  they  were  on  mine.  Then  she  said  . — 

"  '  I  see  it  all.  Something's  happened  tc  poor  little  Rachel 
Moore!' 

"  And  so  'twas,  sure  enough.  When  we  heard  of  the  child, 
she  was  dead  —  was  thrown  out  of  the  shay  and  killed,  from 


86  EUTAW. 

the  horses  running  away,  when  her  uncle  was  a-driving  her  — 
the  very  day  and  hour  when  the  shower  of  blood  rained  on  us  ! 
And  that  was  a  fact,  Nelly,  knowin'  to  my  own  self.  And  I 
could  tell  you  hundreds  more.  But,  child,  ain't  it  high  time 
for  us  to  lie  down  ?  Fling  on  another  lightwood  knot.  I'm 
a-leeling  quite  chilly  and  we  shall  be  in  the  dark  in  another 
minute." 


MORE   OF    TF*'<   SPTS!TTIAL. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

MORE    OF    THE   SPIRITUAL. 

AND  thus  did  these  simple  women  discourse  to  each  other  of 
a  subject,  from  which  philosophy  is  apt  to  shrink  afraid,  yet  in 
Y/hich  '.?:•}  whole  heart  of  humanity  must  always  take  the  pro 
found  obi,  interest. 

And.  thus  discoursing  they  retired  for  the  night  —  but  not  to 
sleep,  net  soon  at  least.  Their  fancies  had  been  set  to  work 
upon  a  problem  which  does  not  let  one  sleep  easily  or  immedi 
ately  ;  on-s  o'  those  problems  which  exercise  a  strangely  fasci 
nating  power  over  the  human  heart  and  the  imagination,  begin 
ning  with  the  trembling  urchin  by  the  evening  fireside,  nor 
altogether  foregoing  the  grave  and  slippered  pantaloon  in  his 
easy  chair  in  the  wintry  twilight  of  life. 

When  they  had  been  but  a  few  minutes  in  bed — they  slept 
together — Nelly  said,  somewhat  abruptly: — 

"  Mother  Ford,  I  once  saw  my  own  mother." 

"  Well,  you  could  hardly  remember  her,  my  child.  You  were 
but  a  very  leetle  creature  when  she  died." 

"  I  did  not  remember  her,  mother?  But  I  saw  her — the  very 
night  after  I  went  home  with  Lady  Nelson." 

"  You  saw  your  mother.  But  how  did  you  know  'twas  your 
mother  ?" 

"  Oh  !  something  seemed  to  tell  me  so.  I  knew  her  as  soon 
as  I  saw  "Her,  and  she  was  very  beautiful.  And  she  was  clad 
in  a  garment  of  light,  and  it  was  the  lightness  from  her  that  let 
me  see,  for  there  was  no  other  light  in  the  room.  And  1  held 
my  breath.  I  was  not  scared.  I  saw  that  she  looked  pleasantly 
ai  me,  but  she  said  nothing — only  looked  so  sweetly." 


88  »/~xi«v. 

"  And  how  long  did  she  stay." 

"  Oh  !  some  time,  mother  —  some  time.  And  she  did  not  dis 
appear  till  Bettie  came  up  stairs  bringing  the  candle.  It  was 
not  till  I  could  distinguish  the  light  of  the  candle  under  the 
door,  that  her  light  disappeared ;  but  I  saw  her  plainly  till 
then." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you  did  see  your  mother,  child.  And  I 
reckon  she  is  a  good  angel  now,  and  there's  no  reason  why  the 
good  angels  shouldn't  be  let  to  see  their  offspring.-  And  who 
can  tell  the  amount  of  good  which  that  sight  did  you,  making 
you  think  constantly  of  the  beautiful  things  of  God,  that  we  are 
always  a-forgetting  in  the  bad  bitter  ways  of  this  good-for-noth 
ing  world.  Ah  !  child,  I  reckon  'twould  be  better  for  all  of  us, 
ef  we  were  now  and  then  let  to  see  a  good  smiling  sperm  from 
heaven," 

"  But,  mother,  when  I  told  Jeff  Rho'les,  tha';  I  saw  him  kill 
an  angeL  he  laughed  at  me,  and  called  me  mad." 

"  'Twas  like,  him  !  It  stands  to  reason,  cliio.  *hat  the  man 
who  would  kill  a  person,  would  not  be  •.villing  to  believe  in  his 
sperrit,  for  "„'".  reckon  you  mean  the  sperrit  of  the  :.ian  that  was 
killed,  when  yju  say  his  angel." 

He  looked  to  me  like  an  angel,  mother,  though  he  had  no  wings ; 
yet  he  was  lifted  up  in  air,  just  over  the  body,  and  above  the 
bushes  where  the  body  was  lying,  and  Jeff  Rhodes  was  then 
taking  away  all  the  money  that  the  man  had  about  him." 

"Of  course  a  man  was  killed  —  murdered  by  Jeff  Rhodes; 
but  you  did  not  see  his  body." 

"  No  !  I  knew  where  Jeff  Rhodes  was  hiding  on  the  edge 
of  the  bay.  He  did  not  know  that  I  was  near  him.  He  was 
armed  with  his  rifle.  He  fired,  and  then  I  heard  a  horse  running 
away,  and  just  afterward  I  saw  him,  and  he  hud  no  rider.  And 
Jeff  Rhodes  darted  out  of  the  bay,  and  I  saw  him  now  and  then 
lift  himself  above  the  bushes ;  and  'twas  over  his  head,  I  saw  a 
faint  smoke  rising,  and  it  hung  above  him  not  twenty  feet  high. 
And  it  grew  thicker,  and  soon  I  saw  the  shape  of  a  young  man 
in  the  smoke.  It  was  a  pale  face,  and  looking  very  mournful, 
and  his  hands  were  drooping  down  at  first,  then  afterward  lute;'. 
And  so  the  figure  rose  and  rose,  till  suddenly,  it  disappeared 
wholly  from  sight." 


MOKE   OF  THE  SPIRITUAL.  8 

"  Gone  upward!  Well  God  be  praise<?'  the  soul  wani't  lost, 
(hough  tlio  poor  human  was  murdered  —  took  all  of  a  sudden, 
without  a  minute  given  to  fall  upon  his  knees.  No  doubt, 
Nelly,  Jeff  Rhodes  did  a  cruel  murder  that  day,  but  'twas  a 
man,  not  an  angel,  Nelly,  that  he  murdered.  He  called  you 
crazy,  child,  because  you  said  an  angel.  But  I  reckon  he  feels 
well  enough  that  you  are  knowing  to  his  murder  of  the  man ; 
and  sooner  than  you  should  tell  of  it,  Nelly,  he  will  murder  you. 
So  keep  away  from  him,  child.  He'll  be  the  death  of  you,  if  he 
can  get  a  chance  to  do  it  and  no  one  see.  So,  as  you  valley 
your  life  don't  go  among  his  gang  agin." 

"  But  Mat !  How  am  I  ever  to  get  him  from  their  snares  and 
dangers  if  I  do  not  go  among  them." 

"Nelly,  rny  child,  it's  not  in  you,  or  any  of  the  gift?  you've 
got,  to  git  that  poor  boy  out  of  their  clutches.  The  boy  is  weak 
and  has  a  uaterai  hankering  after  temptation.  The  love  of  the 
sin  is  in  him.  That's  the  mischief.  The  devil's  got  a  place  in 
his  heart  where  he  hides  snug,  and  sends  out  his  p'ison  through 
all  the  heart.  It's  gradual,  but  it  works.  It's  slow,  but  mighty 
sure.  'Tain't  Jeff  Rhodes  only  that's  the  tempter.  It's  the 
devil  in  his  own  heart." 

"  Oh  !  mother,  mother,  but  this  is  too  terrible.  You  don't 
know  Mat.  He  always  listens  to  me.  He  acknowledges  it's 
true  what  I  tell  him,  and  when  I'm  with  him,  he'll  do  as  I  bid 
him.  Mat's  not  naturally  wicked." 

"  As  if  all  men  warn't  wicked.  He's  like  the  rest,  having  a 
mighty  great  hankering  after  sin.  He  knows  it  to  be  sin,  but 
the  sin's  too  sweet,  and  he  too  weak,  and  he  gives  in  to  the 
temptation.  He  keeps  up  smooth  talking  with  you,  sence 
you're  his  own  nateral  born  sister,  and  he  has  sense  enough,  and 
jist  feeling  enough  to  know  that  you  love  him  and  talk  for  hip 
^ood.  But  every  day  the  sin  gits  stronger,  and  the  soul  gits 
weaker,  and  your  words  are  jist  so  much  wind,  flying  here 
and  there,  and  never  moving  him  one  side  or  t'other.  In  a 
leetle  time,  Nelly  dear,  he  won't  listen  to  you  at  all.  The 
p-eedy  after  gould,  and  the  thirsty  after  blood's,  both  growing 
upon  him,  and  in  Jeff  Rhodes's  hands,  he'll  be  mighty  soon  jist 
sich  a  scholerd  as  his  master.  Oh  !  tell  me  nothing,  Nelly 
Floyd,  of  Mat  Floyd.  Nothing  that  you  kin  do  kin  save  him. 


?0  ET;TA.W. 

He's  easy  to  hear,  perhaps,  hut  hard  to  hold.  Ef  you  CHI.  skear 
him  off  from  Rhodes,  that's  your  only  chaince.  The  boy,  on- 
happily  kin  he  skeared,  but  he  kain't  be  palavered." 

*'  But  surely,  mother,  the  dreadful  appearance  that  I  have 
seen  —  the  gallows  and  the  halter;  surely  that  is  L  picture  to 
fright  him  from  his  path." 

"  Does  it." 
'Yes!    He  feels  it,  fears  it,  trembles  at  it,  and — believes  it." 

"  Spose !  And  jest  as  your  back's  turned  he  forgits  it-all. 
Jeff  Rhodes  puts  his  finger  to  his  eye,  and  roars  with  laughter 
as  if  to  split.  And  Mat's  satisfied  that  his  sister  dream'd  it  only 
and  seed  it  in  her  dream,  and  that  his  sister's  only  a  crazy  fool 
with  her  inventions.  And  he's  glad  to  believe  you're  crazy,  for 
if  he  didn't,  he'd  be  worried.  And  he  don't  like  to  think  of 
the  danger.  And  he's  too  well  pleased  to  be  all  the  time  think 
ing  of  the  temptation,.  I 'reckon  you  kin  skear  him  jest  while 
you're  a-talking  to  him  by  yourself;  for,  sartinly,  it's  a  most 
terrible  vision  for  mortal  eye  to  see  —  a  woman's  eye,  too — to 
see  an  own  dear  brother  going  to  the  gallows,  dragged  up  and 
swung  off,  and  —  Lord  !  Lord  !  it's  a  most  awsome  gift  that  of 
your'n !  a  most  awful  gift.  And  you've  seen  that  murderous 
vision  more  than  once  ?" 

"  Twice,  thrice,  many  times.     I  know  not  how  many." 

"  And  always  in  the  daytime,  you  say  ?" 

"Yes!  always!" 

"And  always  jest  in  the  same  sort  of  place?" 

"  Yes !  I  should  know  it  were  I  to  see  it  a  hundred  years 
hence  —  a  dark  wood -7- all  pines  —  except  on  the  edge  of  the 
bay,  and  that's  of  thick  undergrowth.  There's  a  creek  near, 
and  a  boat,  and  —  oh  !  me,  there  it  is  now  —  it  rises  before  me 
as  I  speak.  I  see  it  all.  There  is  a  crowd  of  men.  They 
drag  him  off.  It  is  a  British  officer  that  commands  —  a  captain, 
but  I  can  not  see  his  face — -I  never  see  his  face.  Why  don't 
I  see  that  officer's  face,  mother  !  Ah  !  ah  !  They  draw  him 
up  —  he  swings.  Oh!  mother,  mother,  it  is  over  —  it  is  gone 
All  is  dark,  dark,  dark!" 

And  she  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow,  sobbing  with  terroi, 
while  the  old  woman  wraps  her  withered  arms  about  her,  and 
draws  her  up  tenderly  to  her  bosom. 


MORE   OF   THE   SPIRITUAL.  1)1 

"  It's  the  thing  working  in  your  mind,  Nelly  dear  j  I  reckon 
it  was  a  dream  first  time  you  saw  it,  and  a'terward  it  worked  in 
your  brain,  till  the  vision  seemed  to  rise  before  your  sight,  just 
as  you  had  seen  it  in  your  dreams.  You  see,  now,  it  appears  to 
you  this  time  at  night.  'Tain't  with  your  natural  eyes  that  you 
seed  anything  here,  for  all's  dark  as  pitch.  There  ain't  the  sign 
of  a  spark  in  the  chimney.  It's  in  your  brain,  Nelly  dear,  that 
the  thing  is  working.  It  comes  from  too  much  thinking  upon 
it,  Nelly,  and — " 

"I  don't  know,  mother  —  I  don't  know!  It  seems  to  stand 
out  clear  before  my  eyes.  All  stands  out  distinctly  —  the  scene 
—  the  soldiers  —  all  are  soldiers  —  all  are  visible  —  clear  to  my 
sight  —  as  if  they  were  living  and  acting  in  the  broad  daylight. 
I  see  their  faces  too,  Ned's  face,  and  all  but  one.  The  officer's 
face  I  can't  see.  His  back  is  always  to  me.  I  watch  with  all 
my  eyes  to  see ;  for  there  is  something  about  his  figure  that  I 
seem  to  know,  lie's  in  rich  green  uniform,  and  he's  tall  and 
slender.  He's  young  —  that  I'm  sure!  But  I  can't,  with  all 
my  trying,  and  praying,  get  a  sight  of  his  face.  He's  looking 
at  Mat,  and  Mat  looks  at  him  very  fearful !  And  I  can  see  the 
officer  lift  his  hand  arid  wave  him  off,  and  turn  away,  and  go 
off,  while  the  soldiers  hale  my  poor  brother  to  the  tree.  And 
then  all's  dark,  dark  and  horrible." 

"  That's  all  mighty  curious.  It's  curious  that  you  kain't  see 
the  face  of  the  commanding  officer ;  and  it's  curious  that  Mat 
should  be  hung  up  by  the  British,  when  he's  upon  their  side." 

"  Ah  !  -m6ther,  that's  the  worst  of  it.  So  long  as  Mat  keeps 
with  Jeff  Rhodes  he's  on  no  side — " 

"Yes  —  the  old  devil!"  exclaimed  the  aged  woman  vehe 
mently.  "  If  the  boy  ain't  got  away  from  sich  a  leader,  he 
stands  a  chaince  of  being  run  up  by  all  parties,  red-coats  and 
blue,  any  one  that  first  catches  him  at  his  tricks." 

"And  what's  to  be  done,  mother?" 

"  What  kin  be  done,  child,  by  two  sich  poor  creatures  as  we  ? 
I'm  too  old,  and  you  too  young,  and  we're  both  women.  Ef 
'twas  safe  for  you  to  be  in  Jeff  Rhodes'  camp,  even  for  a  min 
ute,  I'd  say,  go,  and  try  your  best !  But  it's  not  safe.  Ef  Jeff 
Rhodes  knows  that  you  seed  him  murder  a  man,  he'll  be  sure  to 


92  EUTAW. 

mimlcr  you,  the  very  first  chaince !  You  kain't  go  to  bis  camp, 
Nelly." 

"  But  I  must  try  and  save  Mat,  mother." 

"  In  course,  ef  you  kin  !  But,  Nelly,  child,  ef  you  air  to  go 
to  Jeff  Rhodes's  camp,  see  that  he  never  knows  of  it.  You're 
quick  to  move,  and  keen  to  see,  and  kin  ride  fast,  and  steal 
about  softly ;  and  you'll  hav'  to  prac^'^e  all  your  cunning,  to  see 
Mat  onbeknowing  to  Jeff  Rhodes,  and  the  others  in  camp. 
You  kin  no  more  trust  one  than  t'other.  You  kin  no  more  trust 
Molly  Hhodes  —  though  she's  your  hafe-sister  —  than  you  kin 
trust  Jeff.  She'd  whine  about  you  for  awhile,  ef  anything  hap 
pened  to  you,  but  she'd  never  eat  one  bit  the  less  that  night,  of 
her  'lowance.  The  bacon  and  hoecake  would  set  as  light  upon 
her  stomach,  Nelly,  though  she  made  a  supper-table  of  your 
coffin,  as  it  ever  did  at  any  supper  in  her  life.  She's  as  cold  as 
a  snake  in  December,  and  jist  as  full  of  p'ison.  And  the  fel 
lows  Jeff  Rhodes  has  got  about  him  —  Nat  Rhodes,  and  the 
rest  —  they're  all  jist  so  many  tools  of  the  devil,  all  g'reased 
and  sharpened,  and  ready  for  use,  in  his  hands,  whenever  he's 
wanting  to  cut  a  throat  or  pick  a  pocket ;  and  when  is  he  not 
wanting  them  for  some  sich  business  ?  Better  never  let  any  one 
of  'em  set  eyes  upon  you  ef  you  goes  to  their  camp.  Better 
never  go  at  all." 

"  And  leave  poor  Mat  to  his  doom  —  his  danger  !" 

"  What  God  writes  in  the  sky,  my  child,  is  law  for  airth  ;  and 
it  will  sartinly  come  to  pass.  Ef  it's  showd  you  that  Mat  Floyd 
is  under  doom  and  sentence,  I  reckon  'twon't  be  anything  that 
you  kin  say,  or  do,  that'll  save  him.  And  when,  at  the  same 
time,  the  devil  is  a  writing  his  law  upon  the  boy's  heart,  then, 
I  reckon,  the  thing's  past  all  disputing." 

"  I  will  try  for  him,  mother,  though  there  were  a  thousand 
devils  !"  exclaimed  the  wild  girl  with  sudden  energy.  "  I  have 
rescued  him  this  night  already  from  the  gallows !  I  will  save 
him  again.  He  shall  not  perish  in  his  sins !" 

"  It's  a  brave  sperrit,  child,  and  a  good  ;  and  may  the  blessed 
Lord  help  you  in  what  you  hopes  to  do." 

"  He  will !  he  will !  But  enough  to-night,  mother.  T  must 
try  and  sleep  now." 

"  I  reckon  you  needs  it,  child.     God  bless  your  sleep,  and 


MORE   OF   THE   SPIRITUAL.  Ki 

protect  your  waking.  Sleep,  ef  you  kin.  'Tain't  much  of  this 
night  that's  left  you  for  sleeping,  and  I  reckon  there  won't  b(? 
much  sleep  for  my  old  eyes  now,  sence  you've  set  my  old  brains 
so  hard  to  working.  But  I'll  shct  up,  and  let  you  sleep." 

The  night,  in  truth,  was  very  nearly  gone,  and  the  hovel  lay 
in  silence  till  the  dawn.  With  the  first  streak  of  day,  indicated 
by  the  shrill  clarion  of  one  long-legged  rooster  in  the  fowl-yard, 
the  old  woman  silently  arose,  and  proceeded  to  her  customary 
exercises.  But  Nelly  Floyd  slept  on  —  softly  and  it  might  be 
sweetly  —  but  the  grandame  every  now  and  then  detected  a 
faint  moaning  escaping  through  her  parted  lips,  as  of  a  sorrow 
that  still  kept  wakeful — such  a  moaning  as  lapses  over  the  sea 
after  a  storm ! 


94  FUTiW. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
A  VISIT  FROM  MARION'S 

WITH  dawn,  as  we  have  said,  good  Mother  Ford  wits  stirring, 
but  Nelly  slept  on  till  after  sunrise;  then  she  waked,  started 
up,  made  her  toilet  hastily,  said  her  prayers,  and  joined  the 
old  woman  cheerfully  at  the  duties  of  the  little  household.  A 
simple  breakfast  of  hominy  and  milk  sufficed,  and  amply  "atis- 
fied  the  appetites  of  both.  During  the  day  Nelly  worked  and 
weeded  in  the  garden,  or  took  a  turn  at  spinning-wheel  or  loom, 
and  wrought  industriously,  if  not  as  dextro~as)y  as  she  might 
have  done  had  her  book-learning  been  less.  But  working  cheer 
fully,  what  she  did  was  well  done,  and  the  manner  of  doing  it 
sweetened  the  performance  to  herself  and  t;*a  old  lady.  And 
so,  the  day  passed  in  simple  toils  of  the  household ;  the  loom, 
the  garden,  and  in  friendly  and  loving  talk  between  the  two  ; 
the  inequality  of  their  years  causing  no  inequality  of  temper. 
They  could  find  companionship  for  each  other,  though,  liko  the 
pair  described  by  Wordsworth: — "One  was  seventeen,  the 
other  seventy-two." 

And  again  came  the  serious  talk  of  evening;  serious,  accord 
ing  with  the  soberness  of  the  night,  the  silence,  the  loneliness 
of  their  homes  and  fortunes,  and  the  gloomy  strife  which  raged 
throughout  the  country.  Serious,  according  with  the  mutuai 
earnestness  of  their  minds,  and  the  deep,  wild,  spiritual  inteLi.ity 
which  worked  in  that  of  the  younger.  Again,  .ill  a  lato  .M-:^ 
did  they  brood  in  discourse  over  those  weird  topics  which  bot^ 
of  them  may  have  loved  too  well.  • 

Another  day  of  hciis<*noj6   work  followed-    -;ii:othor  nighl  nf 


A  VISIT  FKOM  MARION'S  MEN.  95 

dreamy  discourse  and  revery ;  and  then  the  wild  Arab  restless 
ness  of  Nelly  Floyd  prevailed. 

"  I  must  go  forth,  mother.  I  must  seek  after  Mat.  I  feel  so 
nneasy  about  him." 

Poor  Mat !  little  did  he  trouble  himself  with  the  cares  and 
anxieties  of  his  sister  —  little  did  he  value  those  sympathies 
which  kept  her  restlessly  brooding  over  his  fortunes  and  con 
dition.  He  is  to  be  pitied  surely ;  but  there  is  good  reason  why 
he  should  be  flogged  also.  "We  may  sorrow  over  the  weak 
nesses  of  the  offender,  but  be  sure  to  use  the  hickory  mean 
while. 

When  Nelly  declared  her  purpose  to  go  forth,  Mother  Ford, 
though  regretting  the  determination,  did  not  argue  against  it. 
She  knew  that  arguments,  after  all,  really  tell  only  upon  the 
willing  mind  —  the  willingness  constituting  that  modicum  of 
faith  which  is  the  inclining  ear  to  wisdom.  But,  though  she 
urged  nothing  to  prevent  or  discourage  the  girl,  she  was  yet 
particularly  full  in  her  cautions  to  her  not  to  trust  herself  alone 
within  reach  of  Jeff  Rhodes — not  to  trust  herself  in  his  eye 
sight,  if  it  were  possible  to  avoid  it.  And  the  girl  promised. 
Calling  up  Aggy,  and  kissing  the  good  mother,  she  soon  had 
her  beast  saddled  and  bridled,  and  was  cantering  off  m  the 
direction  of  the  camp  where  she  had  left  the  faction  of  Rhodes 
on  the  night  of  her  brother's  rescue.  Very  anxiously  did  the 
ancient  dame  look  after  her  departing  form. 

With  night  she  returned,  anxious,  excited,  with  a  budget  full 
of  news.  Rhodes  was  gone  with  all  his  party,  leaving  no  clues 
i,o  his  flight ;  and  the  whole  country,  alopg  the  lower  side  of  the 
Cawcaw,  was  full  of  soldiers.  Orangeburg  was  full  of  soldiers  — 
the  British.  The  great  Lord  Rawdon  was  there,  with  his  three 
thousand  men :  and,  hovering  about  like  vultures,  greedy  for 
the  prey,  were  the  wild  forayers  of  Marion  and  Sumter,  and  the 
trim  legion  of  Lee,  and  the  rough  war-dogs  of  a  score  of  other 
"  captains,  and  colonels,  and  men-at-arms,"  and  a  strong  array 
of  the  continentals  under  Greene. 

Nelly  Floyd  Avas  quite  a  woodman,  and  knew  "  how  to  work 
a  traverse"  with  any  scout  in  the  two  armies.  She  had  picked 
her  way  from  point  to  point,  until  she  gathered  up  all  the  intel 
ligence  which  \ve  here  sum  up  in  a  paragraph;  to  say  nothing 


96  EUTAW. 

of  a  thousand  details  besides,  which,  interesting  enough  to  good 
Mother  Ford,  will  hardly  compensate  our  readers. 

Here  was  a  new  subject  to  keep  the  pair  wakeful  again  that 
night.  War  and  its  glories  ;  war  and  its  miseries  !  Of  course, 
a  battle  was  confidently  expected  :  and  how  many  poor,  weep 
ing  mothers  were  to  be  left  childless ;  how  many  wives  made 
widows ;  how  many  homes  made  desolate ;  how  many  noble 
spirits  violently  freed,  in  storm,  and  wrath,  and  torture,  from 
the  goodly  frames  of  beautiful  mortality  in  which  they  now 
walk  the  earth  in  strength  and  authority  !  "  How  few  shall 
part  .  .  .  where  many  meet!"  And  with  whom  is  the  triumph 
to  remain  ?  And  what  is  to  follow  to  the  poor  country,  already 
filled  with  widows  and  orphans,  from  that  threatened  shock  of 
battle  ? 

It  was  of  such  topics  that  these  two  feeble  women  conversed 
that  night,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the  cannon. 

But,  ever  and  anon,  Nelly  wound  up  her  meditations  with  the 
one  burden  of  her  individual  fear. 

"And  where,  oh,  where  can  Mat  be  all  this  while?" 

"  Well,  ef  he's  with  Jeff  Rhodes,  Nelly,  you  may  be  sure  he 
ain't  in  the  ranks  of  the  red-coats  or  the  blue.  Jeff  Rhodes  is  a 
robber  and  a  murderer,  not  a  fighting  sodger.  He  valleys  his  car 
cass  too  well  to  resk  anything.  He's  only  good  for  skulking  and 
shooting  down  onsuspecting  travellers  from  behind  the  bush." 

"I  shouldn't  so  much  mind  it,  mother,  if  Mat  was  in  the 
army." 

"  No,  indeed !  I  wish  I  had  twenty  sons  to  march  up  to  the 
Swamp-Fox.  Is  it  death  that's  the  danger?  Why,  Nelly, 
that's  every  human  man's  danger  —  what  every  child  that's  born 
has  to  ondergo ;  and  the  question  is  about  the  way  one  dies-  - 
whether  he  dies  decently,  like  a  human  Christian,  doing  open, 
broad-daylight  actions,  that  he  ain't  ashamed  or  afraid  of,  or 
dying  in  a  ditch,  like  a  hog,  or  in  the  halter,  like  a  dog !  It's 
the  difference  in  the  dying,  a'ter  all,  Nelly,  that  makes  the 
danger.  Ef  I  had  a  son,  I'd  see  him  carried  to  the  grave  with 
out  so  much  as  whimpering,  ef  so  be  his  cappin  could  say  — 
'Mother  Ford,  your  boy  did  his  duty,  like  a  free-born  white 
man,  and.  took  his  wounds  all  of  'cm  in  front,  fighting-  for  hia 
country's  >sile  !'  Oh,  Nelly,  I'd  hu'  gone  on  my  knees  to  Mat, 


A    VISIT    FROM    MARIONS    MEN.  91 

onnateral  as  'twould  be  for  an  old  woman  like  me  to  crook  ,i 
j'int  to  a  boy  like  tliat,  ef  so  be  I  could  ha'  got  him  .to  j'iuc 
Thompson's  rigiment,  when  they  was  a-recruiting  about  here  in 
the  beginning  of  the  war.  But  'twas  even  jest  then  that  Nat 
Rhodes  married  Molly  Floyd,  and  so  they  all  got  hold  of  poor 
Mat  together,  and  he'll  hear  to  nothing  now  that  either  you  or 
I  can  say." 

"  Oh,  mother,  if  it  should  happen  to  him  as  I  have  seen  ! — " 

"  Hev'  you  seen  that  thing  agin  to-day  ?" 

"  No,  not  to-day." 

"It's  in  your  mind  only.  It's  bekaise  you  think  so  much 
about  it.  Weed  it  out.  Jest  stay  here,  working  with  me,  or 
not  working — jest  as  you  please  —  though  work's  the  first 
way  to  begin  a-saving  sinners,  and  it's  best  for  every  heart  and 
human  ef  they  will  work.  But  never  mind  the  work  :  jest  you 
stay  with  the  old  woman,  Nelly ;  and  let  them  that  won't  stay 
to  hear  the  prayers  of  sister  and  friend,  go  where  —  the  Lord 
will  provide  as  he  pleases !  He'll  be  sure  to  do  his  will,  a'ter 
all !" 

Nelly  shook  her  head  mournfully. 

"  Well,  you'll  hev'  to  stay  ontil  the  country's  clear  of  these 
sodgers." 

"  Hark,  mother !  do  you  hear  ?  It  is  the  tramp  of  horsemen, 
riding  briskly." 

"Ah,  you've  got  mighty  keen  young  ears!  I  don't  hear 
nothing." 

"  Now  !  don't  you  hear  them  now  1" 

"  Ef  you  tell  me,  I  reckon  I  will  hear  a'ter  a  while.  But  — 
sure  enough,  Nelly,  I  do  hear." 

"  Shall  I  throw  water  on  the  fire,  mother  1" 

"  For  what,  Nelly  ?  What  hev'  we  to  fear  ?  That  would  bo 
a  needcessity,  prehaps,  in  Jeff  Ithodes's  camp  ;  but  here,  Nelly, 
look  at  the  plunder  that's  to  be  had  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  old 
woman's  curses,  kivered  up  in  prayers!  No! — let  the  light- 
wood  blaze  !" 

And,  with  the  words,  she  threw  a  fresh  brand  into  the  fire. 

In  another  moment,  the  hovel  was  surrounded  by  armed 
troopers,  and  a  firm  but  not  violent  rapping  at  the  door  de 
manded  that  it  should  be  opened. 


98  EUTAW. 

The  old  woman  threw  it  wide  instantly,  and  a  group  of  troc-p- 
ers,  three  or  four,  entered.  Two  of  these  were  officers.  The. 
lightwood  blaze  showed  them  distinctly  to  the  eye  in  evc..y 
lineament.  It  revealed  to  them,  at  the  same  time,  the  tall,  erect 
form  of  the  aged  woman,  with  an  eye  as  cairn  as  if  the  soul  winch 
it  represented  never  entertained  one  fearful  emotion.  The 
young  girl  stood  a  little  behind  her,  but  on  one  side,  so  that  she 
was  visible  to  the  officers  at  the  same  time.  They  removed 
their  caps  as  they  discovered  the  t\vo  females. 

"Marion's  men!"  quoth  the  old  woman,  sotto  vocc,  to  Nelly. 
She  knew  the  uniform. 

The  officers  did  not  delay  to  make  tfyeir  business  known. 

"  I  am  an  intruder,  madam,"  said  the  person  in  command, 
"  but  I  would  not  be  an  offender ;  and  I  must  plead  a  very 
anxious  duty  in  justification  of  myself  for  thus  trespassing  upon 
your  privacy  at  this  unseasonable  hour." 

"  Well,  the  sight  of  Marion's  men  is  always  a  welcome  one  to 
the  eyes  of  Jane  Ford,  gentlemen.  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you. 
Won't  you  set  down  ?  This  is  my  adopted  darter,  Ellen  Floyd, 
gentlemen.  Mout  I  hev'  the  pleasure,  sir,  of  knowing  your 
name  ]" 

"  My  name  is  Sinclair,  madam.  This  gentleman  is  Captain 
St.  Julieu,  of  the  brigade  of  General  Marion." 

"  I've  hearn  of  you  both,  I  reckon.  But  won't  you  set  down, 
gentlemen  ?" 

The  two  officers  readily  took  the  seats  indicated,  one  of  them 
waving  his  hand  to  the  two  privates  who  had  followed  them 
into  the  house,  who  took  the  hint,  and  immediately  withdrew. 

"  I've  hearn  of  you  both,  I  reckon,"  resumed  the  old  lady, 
"Air  you  the  son  of  old  Colonel  Sinclair  —  the  one  that  they 
calls  '  the  baron'  —  that  lives  below  somewhar  ?" 

"  I  have  that  honor,  Mrs.  Ford." 

"  Well,  I  seed  him  once,  the  time  of  Grant  and  Middleton,  in 
the  Cherokee  war.  I  seed  them  mustering  on  the  Congarees. 
I'm  an  old  woman,  gentlemen,  and  hev'  seen  enough  of  wars 
and  rumors  of  warsvby  this  time.  But  the  sodgers  of  liberty, 
fighting  for  the  sile,  air  always  welcome  to  these  old  eyes." 

"We  thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  said  Colonel  Sinclair; 
'•and  only  regret  that  your  sentiments,  Mrs.  Ford,  are  not  those 


A  VISIT  FROM  MARION'S  MEN.  99 

of  all  the  free-soulcd  women  of  the  country.  Had  they  been 
my  dear  madam,  the  war  would  have  ceased  long  before  it  eve. 
penetrated  our  little  state." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it  will  cease  afore  long,  and  in  a  way  to 
make  you  young  soclgers  of  liberty  proud  of  it.  I'm  mighty 
glad  to  know  that  Gineral  Marion  has  so  many  fine  officers.  I 
only  wish  I  had  a  dozen  sons  to  send  with  you." 

"  I  wish  you  had  fifty,  my  dear  madam,  all  warmed  with 
your  own  noble  sentiments.  But,  however  pleased  to  converse 
with  you,  I  must  not  suffer  myself  to  trespass.  I  am  now  on  a 
mission  of  great  uneasiness  and  apprehension  —  in  search  of 
two  ladies,  who  were  left  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  Rhodes 
mill,  in  the  Cawcaw  swamp,  two  days  ago,  by  a  detachment  of 
my  command,  while  it  encountered  a  body  of  the  Florida  refu 
gees.  The  refugees  were  dispersed ;  but  when  our  troop  re 
turned  to  seek  for' the  carriage  with  the  ladies,  it  was  gone,  and 
we  have  not  yet  been  able  to  discover  any  traces  of  their  route. 
Finding  an  old  neighborhood  road  out  in  this  direction,  with 
marks  of  wheels,  we  have  pursued  it  in  search,  and  it  brought 
us  here.  Our  purpose  is  simply  to  know  if  you  can  give  us  any 
information  in  respect  to  these  ladies.  Have  they  been  hero  — 
have  you  seen  or  heard  of  them  ?" 

We  are  in  possession  of  facts  of  which  neither  Mother  Ford 
nor  Nelly  Floyd  had  any  knowledge,  and  their  mutual  wonder 
soon  satisfied  the  visiters  that  their  inquiry  was  vain  in  this 
quarter.  They  received  the  unsatisfactory  answers  with  droop 
ing  heads  and  anguished  faces. 

They  hurried  their  departure.  They  had  nothing  more  to 
hear.  But  their  leavetaking,  like  their  approach,  was  consid 
erate  and  respectful  :  and,  when  they  had  gone  a  few  minutes 
from  the  hut,  a  dragoon  returned  from  the  troop  —  now  mus 
tered  without  the  enclosure  —  and,  placing  a  sack  in  a  corner 
of  the  hovel,  said  that  it  had  been  sent  by  Colonel  Sinclair  for 
Mrs.  Ford.  The  sack  contained  meal,  bacon,  and  potatoes. 

A  chapter  might  be  written,  of  great  and  instructive  interest, 
elucidating  the  peculiarity  of  the  warfare  of  the  Revolution,  as 
conducted  by  the  southern  partisans.  ITlstonMis  tell  you  that 
the  men  of  Marion  and  Sumtcr  went  and  came  at  pleasure.  The 
practice  .was  inseparable  from  the  necessities  of  the  country 


:w  EUTAW. 

Tlic  soldiers  were,  nil  farmers,  interested  necessarily  in  the  do 
mestic  progress,  and  required  to  see,  at  certain  periods,  to  theii 
families  :ind  agricultural  interests  —  to  the  season  of  planting, 
and  of  iiarvest,  especially  —  to  the  proper  regulation  of  the  labor 
f. ?  hards  of  half-savage  Africans,  new  to  the  country,  ignorant 
01  the  work  required  at  their  hands,  and  only  half  subordinated 
to  authority.  When,  too,  it  is  understood  that  the  country  was 
perpetually  traversed  by  foreign  refugees,  having  no  families,  no 
responsibilities  to  society,  and  seeking  plunder  only,  it  will  not 
be  thought  surprising  if  the  partisans,  having  done  a  severe 
duty  of  three  months  at  a  spell,  found  it  necessary  to  hurry 
home  to  see  that  the  homestead  was  kept  in  order,  and  made  as 
secure  and  prosperous  as  it  was  possible  to  be.  The  result  was, 
that  the  agriculture  of  the  country  was  measurably  sustained, 
even  while  the  war  raged  in  every  section.  It  was  from  the 
fertile  fields  of  Carolina  that  the  British  and  'American  armies, 
the  loyalists  and  the  whigs,  in  the  two  Carolinas  and  Georgia, 
vcre  chiefly  fed  during  the  last  three  years  of  the  war.  The 
partisans,  in  this  way,  were  enabled  to  share  their  food  with 
the  destitute  and  Buffering ;  and  rarely  did  they  leave  camp 
without  carrying  with  them  some  creature-comforts  with  which 
tney  could  make  glad,  while  passing,  the  wretched  widow  and 
_er  famishing  flock,  in  some  lonely  habitations.  It  was  thus 
that  Sinclair  was  enabled  to  tender  to  Mother  Ford  the  little 
sack  of  supplies,  which  the  old  woman  as  gratefully  accepted. 

"  They're  the  true  sons  of  the  sile,  Nelly.     Oh  !  Lord,  that 

?  •  had   a  million  jest  like  -em.     Oh !    Nelly,  if  that  foolish 

brewer  of  your'n,  was  only  in  that  squad,  under  them  officers ! 

:•..  f    mout  be  that  he  would  be  in  danger  of  death,  but 

ther--.  wouldn't  be  any  shame  in  it,  Nelly." 

Poor  l^eliy  sighed  pitifully.     She  had  no  other  answer. 

"And  to  think  how  they  drooped,  both  the  officers,  when  I 
:ould  tell  'em  nc tiling  of  them  ladies  !  It's  mighty  curious  too, 
£ clly.  '-hat  they  should  hev'  disappeared  jest  about  Rbodes'g 
mill  —  beJo-.v  it,  he  sak,  about  a  mile  or  so  !  Why,  Nelly,  that 
*,vas  jesc  about  the  place  v.  here  old  Rhodes  had  his  camp,  a'ter 
you  ^ot  Mat  out  of  Lem  Watkins'  claws." 

"  Yes  !"  said  the  girl  faintly. 

"And  f;b.  "3  troopers  Jlc  with  Lem  Watkins,  jest  the  day  a'ter, 


A  VISIT  FROM  MARION'S  MEN.  101 

and  driv'  'em  across  the  swamp  !  Well,  old  Rhodes  saw  it  all 
Nelly."' 

Nelly  admitted  the  probability. 

"  And  he's  carried  off  the  carriage  and  the  two  poor  ladies, 
all  for  plundering ;  and,  oh  !  Lord  forgive  the  thought,  but  likely 
for  murdering  too  !" 

*'  Oh  !  no  !  no  i  -*o  not  say  it,  mother  :  do  not  say  it !  Mat 
would  never  consent  to  any  murder !" 

"  Child,  child  !  There's  few  people  that  will  rob  on  the  high 
way  that  won't  murder  on  the  highway  !  That  old  villain 
Rhodes  will  do  it — and  he'll  egg  Mat  on  till  he's  done  the  deed 
afore  he  knows  what  he's  a-doing." 

"Mother,  mother,  I  must  go,"  cried  the  girl  passionately. 
"  I  must  go  !" 

"Go?  — Where?" 

"To  seek  after  these  ladies — to  seek  after  Mat — to  bring 
'him  away  from  Rhodes  —  to  save  him,  and  the  ladies  if  I  can." 

"  You  don't  budge  a  peg  to-night,  child,"  answered  the  old 
woman  firmly.  "  The  troopers  are  about — Marion's  men  —  and 
old  Rhodes  will  lie  close.  He  knows  them  too  well.  No  !  let 
the  night  pass,  and  see  what  good  counsels  will  come  to  you  from 
Grod  to-night.  Git  the  good  book,  Nelly,  and  read  me  something 
from  its  blessed  pages." 

The  girl  rose  up  meekly  from  the  couch  on  which  she  had 
thrown  herself,  with  a  sobbing  moan,  a  moment  before ;  sat 
down  on  the  floor  beside  the  fire,  with  the  voluine*in  her  lap, 
and  read  several  chapters  from  the  New  Testament :  the  old 
•?/oman  occasionally  flinging  a  fresh  brand  upon  the  blaze,  but 
n  no  other  way  disturbing  the  progress  of  the  reader. 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  for  all  hi.o  marcies.  We  gits  no  re 
ligion  now  except  what  he  given  us,  and  I  feel  jest  as  good  a'ter 
Liaring  you  read  out  of  that  blessed  book,  as  ef  I  had  been  a 
listening  to  the  best  garment  in  the  world.  He's  fed  us  to-night 
roth  mouth  and  ears.  In  the.  heart  and  in  the  body.  It's  a 
blessing,  I  feel,  to  see  them  offsers  and  men  of  Marion  to-night. 
I  wish  there  was  a  hundred  million  of  'em.  May  the  Lord  be 
•ffirh  Jiem,  and  help  fight  their  battles.  Let's  pray  now,  Nelly. 
I  '.eel  all  over  softened  for  prayer." 

They  knelt  and  prayed  together-    the  Lord's  prayer  only  — 


102  EUTAW. 

but  they  mused  other  unspoken  adjurations  for  which  neithei 
had  any  proper  form  in  words. 

And  then  they  slept,  and  the  shadow  of  God  rested  on  the 
house,  and  the  hours  swept  by  peacefully  over  it,  ancl  the  two 
woke  refreshed  at  sunrise. —  But  Nelly's  maditations  had  net 
changed  her  purpose.  The  moment  breakfast  was  over,  sh) 
called  up  Aggy,  and  rode  forth  upon  her  scouting  expedition 


GLIMPSES     71    CAPTIVITY. 


CHAPTER    X. 

GLIMPSES    OF    CAPTIVITY. 

MEANWHILE,  Jeff  Rhodes  with  his  gang,  and  their  captives, 
pursued  their  way  down  the  country,  with  a  caution  and  confi 
dence,  the  due  result  of  their  knowledge  of  the  perils  of  the  re 
gion,  the  prize  which  they  carried,  and  the  skill  and  experience 
they  had  acquired  in  the  practice  of  the  scout.  One  or  other 
of  the  party  rode  constantly  beside  the  ancient  negro,  Cato,  who 
was  compelled  to  continue  as  the  coachman,  without  being  al 
lowed  to  make  any  comment  or  question  of  the  route  which  he 
pursued.  The  old  fellow  was  by  no  means  quieted  to  submis 
sion  by  the  rough  handling  which  the  robbers  had  already  shown 
him,  and  from  which  he  was  only  rescued  by  the  timely  inter 
position  of  his  young  mistress.  He  was  very  much  inclined  to 
assert  his  own  and  the  independence  of  the  ladies  whom  he 
served ;  and  many  a  sharp  response,  from  his  saucy  tongue, 
aroused  the  outlaws  to  a  momentary  show  of  sharp  penalties  in 
store.  But  of  these,  Cato  would  have  taken  no  heed  —  in  fact, 
he  would  have  relished  nothing  better  than  an  encounter, 
a  I'outrance,  with  any  or  all  of  the  gang,  and  without  regard  to 
the  inequality  of  forces,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  unceasing 
watchfulness  of  his  mistress,  and  the  stern  authority  which  she 
continued  to  exercise  over  him.  Denied  to  speak  or  to  fight,  the 
grey  head  of  the  veteran  coachman  kept  up  a  frequent  motion, 
bobbing  defiance  from  side  to  side,  as  the  outlaws  severally  ap 
peared  on  this  or  that  side  of  the  carriage.  He  submitted  very 
sulkily,  and  continued  to  drive  on,  through  the  woods,  or  along 
very  obscure  roads,  until  night  had  fairly  settled  down.  Then, 
one  of  the  outlaws  jumped  upon  the  box,  pushed  the  old  fellow 


101  EOTAW. 

aside  and  took  the  whip  into  his  own  hands.  They  drove  B!OW 
ly,  feeling  their  way  all  the  while,  and  occasionally  scraping 
against  the  pine-trees,  or  settling  suddenly  in  some  bog  or  hol 
low  of  the  way,  until  about  midnight,  when  the  vehicle  was  sud 
denly  halted  before  an  obscure  settlement,  consisting  of  two  or 
three  rude  log-houses,  not  unlike  the  one  of  good  Mother  Ford. 

The  suddenness  of  the  stop  caused  the  young  lady,  who  had 
been  sleeping  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  to  start  up  in  alarm. 

"  What's  the  matter,  mother  ?" 

"  Nothing,  my  child.     The  carriage  has  only  stopped.     Hera 
seems  to  be  a  settlement,  such  as  it  is.     Here  are  loghousoS 
fancy." 

The  girl  looked  out  with  a  shudder. 

"  It's  a  dismal  looking  place,  mother." 

And  so  it  was.  The  pine  woods  were  almost  as  dense  as  in 
the  original  forest.  There  were  no  fences.  The  rude  huts 
stood  under  great  shadowing  trees  that  frowned  them  into  utter 
insignificance.  The  starlight  could  only  very  faintly  penetrate 
the  enclosure,  and  the  dwellings  themselves  seemed  to  have  no 
lights.  A  moment  after,  however,  the  barking  of  a  dog  was 
heard,  and  then  a  faint  gleam,  from  one  of  the  nearest  of  the 
hovels,  announced  the  inmate  to  be  in  motion.  The  door  was 
Boon  thrown  open,  and  a  hoarse  voice  cried  out : — 

"  Hello  !     Is  it  you,  Rhodes  V 

"  Ay !  ay  !  all  right." 

The  next  moment  Rhodes  was  at  the  carriage  door,  which  he 
opened  with  a  profound  obeisence ;  and,  with  a  voice  rendered 
as  soft  ajid  insinuating  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  make  it,  the 
old  ruffian  said  : — 

"  I'll  thank  you,  respectable  ma'am,  to  git  out  now,  you  and 
the  young  lady.  I  reckon  you  must  be  pretty  nigh  tired  down, 
you  and  the  beautiful  young  madam.  We've  had  to  ride  far,  to 
put  you  out  of  harm's  way ;  for,  you  see,  the  whole  country's 
now  alive  with  sodgers,  and  a  sorry  chaince  you'd  have,  you 
two  poor  lonesome  ladies,  a  meeting  Avith  any  of  them  wild  ri 
ders  of  Sumter  and  Marion.  Now,  here,  you're  safe,  till  we  kin 
find 'out  your  friends  and  family,  and  let  'em  know  where  they 
kin  look  for  you.  This  is  the  most  snuggest  hiding-place  in 
all  these  parts.  It's  called  Cat  Corner,  and  I  reckon  if  puss 


GLIMPSES   OF    CAPTIVITY.  lc 

know'd  all  about  it,  she'd  like  no  better  hole  to  creep  inta. 
Please  you,  now,  ma'am,  to  let  me  help  you  out  of  the  coach. 
It's  hard  dry  airtli  that  we  stand  upon." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  need  no  help,"  returned  the  elder  lady, 
preparing  to  alignt.  "  Come,  Bertha,  my  child,  we  can  do  no 
better." 

"  That's  the  right  reason,  ma'am,"  responded  Rhodes,  "  and 
this  is  the  right  sort  of  place  to  hear  to  reason.  It's  so  snug 
and  quiet,  that,  I  reckon,  ef  the  whole  of  the  ribbil  army  was 
a  marching  by,  they'd  never  stop  to  look  in,  and  ef  they  did, 
't  mout  be  they'd  find  nothing  to  make  'em  any  wiser." 

A  torch  was  brought  from  the  house,  and  held  while  the  ladies 
alighted;  and  they  discovered  that  the  man  bearing  it  —  a  stout 
ruffian,  without  coat,  or  cravat  —  was  wanting  a  leg.  The  lack 
was  supplied  by  a  stump  of  oak  or  hickory,  upon  which,  with 
the  aid  of  a  staff,  he  strode  on  with  tolerable  ease  and  confi 
dence.  He  led  the  way  to  the  house,  standing  at  the  door 
with  his  torch,  while  the  ladies  entered. 

Here  they  found  themselves  in  a  log-cabin,  fifteen  by  twenty, 
without  a  single  window,  and  but  the  one  door  by  which  they 
entered.  There  was  a  fireplace  upon  which  a  few  lightwood 
brands  were  feebly  burning.  The  house  stood  on  logs,  four 
feet  from  the  ground.  Through  the  floor  there  was  an  outlet 
of  escape;  one  of  the  planks  being  moveable;  but  of  this,  of 
course,  the  captives  knew  nothing.  This  trap  conducted  to  a 
wing,  of  logs  also,  to  which  from  the  main  building  there  was 
no  other  mode  of  ingress.  It  had  a  door  however  opening  upon 
the  \voods,  in  the  rear.  Two  other  huts  similarly  constructed, 
and  at  convenient  distances,  might  be  seen  in  the  background, 
which,  no  doubt,  possessed  similar  facilities.  They  were  con 
tiguous  to  a  deep  thicket,  and  an  almost  impenetrable  bay  in 
,the  rear.  The  outlaws  had  most  probably  constructed  their 
place  of  refuge,  with  an  equal  eye  to  obscurity  and  defence. 

The  apartment  into  which  the  ladies  were  ushered  had  a 
single  rude  bedstead,  with  all  the  necessary  bedding.  There 
was  a  common  pine  table  in  the  room,  and  a  few  old  chairs.  A 
piece  of  broken  mirror  was  fastened  to  one  of  the  walls;  but, 
unless  with  candle  or  firelight,  it  could  have  very  few  uses,  A 


106  EUTAW. 

shelf,  with  a  few  old  cups  and  broken  tumblers  and  pitchers 
completed  the  furniture  of  the  establishment.  The  door  had  a 
lock  on  the  outside,  and  a  bolt  within  ;  and  scarcely  had  the 
two  captives  entered  the  den,  than  it  was  suddenly  closed  upon 
them,  and  they  heard  the  bolt  shot  from  without.  They  were 
made  to  feel  that  they  were  close  prisoners.  Even  the  servant 
girl  was  not  suffered  to  enter  with  her  mistresses. 

You  may  conceive  the  anxiety  of  their  souls  in  this  gloomy 
den  of  outlawry.  But  the  elder  of  the  ladies  was  calm,  and 
the  younger  cheerful. 

"  We  are  certainly  destined  for  our  share  of  adventures, 
Bertha,"  said  the  former.  "  This  you  probably  will  call  ro 
mantic  " 

"  What  can  these  wretches  mean,  mother  ?" 
"  Plunder,  robbery,  my  child." 
"  But  they  have  taken  all  that  we  have.'' 
"  Yes,  but  that  does  not  content  them.     They  know  us,  I 
fancy  ;  and  calculate  on  extorting  a  ransom  from  our  friends. 
We  must  be  patient.     They  can  have  no  other  motives.     They 
are  quite  too  low  in  the  scale  of  society  to  feel  any  other ;  and 
their  cupidity  once  satisfied,  we  shall  be  suffered  to  go  free.     I 
do  not  apprehend  in  respect  to  ourselves,  except  the  painful 
length  of  our  detention,  in  the  present  condition  of  our  affairs. 
My  grief,  my  child,  is  for  your  father,  and  our  dear  Henry,  in 
the  hands,  no  doubt,  of  their  bitter  enemy.     Oh !  my  child,  to 
what    are  they   reserved?  —  what  is    their   fate?  —  where   are 
they?  —  in  what  condition  of  suffering  and  privation?" 

"  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  worse,  dear  mother,  for  father  or 
Henry,  but  some  such  confinement  as  our  own.  There  is  ii«? 
reason  to  suppose  that  Captain  Inglehardt,  if  he  has  captured 
them,  will  do  anything  worse  than  keep  them  fast  as  long  as  ho 
can,  until  he  can  secure  some  of  his  objects." 

"Ah!  that's  the  misery,  Bertha!  What  are  his  objects? 
He  would  secure  your  hand.  Aie  you  prepared  to  make  the 
sacrifice  ?" 

"  Never  !  How  can  I,  mother  ?  I  hate,  I  loathe  him  ;  and 
can  I,  before  God,  profess  to  love,  to  honor,  and  obey  him  !  I 
snould  look  to  see  the  bolt  of  heaven  descend  upon  me  while  J 
wis  uttering  the  monstrous  perjury." 


GLIMPSES   OF   CAPTIVITY.  107 

"  Thus  it  is,  Bertha.  Your  father  feels  this,  even  as  yon  and  *•. 
feel  it.  He,  too,  hates  and  loathes  this  Inglehardt.  I  despise 
him.  And  Inglehardt  knows  exactly  how  we  all  feel  toward  him. 
His  pride  would  humble  you.  His  passions  lead  him  to  you. 
Your  father's  wealth  —  for  he  is  wealthy  —  is  an  object  of  his 
determined  watch.  What  will  he  not  do  to  obtain  his  objects  ? 
I  tremble,  my  child,  when  I  think  of  his  power,  his  will,  his 
appetites,  and  his  cold-blooded  cruelty  of  disposition  !  Our 
fate  somewhat  depends  upon  your  father's  ;  for  who  is  there  to 
buy  us  out  of  captivity  ?  These  wretches,  into  whose  hands 
we  have  fallen,  require  money.  To  whom  will  they  apply  1 
Your  father  ?  But  where  is  he  ?  In  a  dungeon  himself.  I 
know  not  where  to  look,  dear  child,  unless  to  God  !" 

"  I  believe  in  God,  mother.  I  believe  that  he  takes  as  watch 
ful  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  men,  this  day,  as  he  did  five  thousand 
years  ago  !  He  will  send  us  deliverance  when  we  least  look 
for  it.  Sinclair  is  not  idle.  I  know  that  his  warm  heart  is 
vexing  him  now  that  he  can  do  nothing.  I  know  that  his  sleep 
less  eyes  are  busy  ever,  piercing  into  the  dark.  Ah  !  if  lie  had 
been  with  us  instead  of  Captain  St.  Julien,  this  had  never 
happened!" 

"  Nay,  Bertha,  child,  be  not  unjust.  St.  Julien  did  what  he 
thought  right.  He  had  no  option.  Either  he  must  defeat  those 
refugees,  or  they  must  defeat  him.  He  was  compelled  to  do  his 
duty  to  the  country.  He  himself  told  us  that  our  escort  was  only 
a  secondary  consideration,  and,  however  uncourtly  the  speech 
might  seem,  it  was  only  manly  and  honest,  and  it  declared 
for  his  integrity.  A  woman  is  always  a  thousand  times  more 
secure,  trusting  to  a  man  of  integrity,"  than-  to  a  mere  gallant. 
I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  St.  Julien;  and,  remember,  my 
daughter,  we  know  not,  at  this  moment,  whether  he  be  dead  or 
living  !  You  may  be  even  now  speaking  unjustly  of  one  who 
has  paid,  with  his  life,  the  penalties  of  his  error;  if  In  lias 
committed  error,  which  I  do  not  believe.  Be  patient  child 
Let  us  do  no  injustice  ;  particularly  to  one  in  whom  Sinclair 
put  the  most  perfect  trust.  If  not  slain,  or  captive,  what  imist 
be  his  restless  search  —  what  his  anxieties  this  very  moment,  on 
our  account?  Zlow  will  he  reproach  himself,  even  though  .„* 
oo  not  really  to  blame.'' 


IX/CDCITV 


108  EUTAW. 

"  Ah  !  if  Willie  knew  !"  said  the  daughter.  "  I  look  to  him 
mother,  to  find  and  rescue  us."  • 

"  Look  to  God,  Bertha  Travis,  who,  I  trust,  will  commission 
Willie  Sinclair  for  our  rescue." 

Thus,  for  an  hour,  the  two  captives,  in  solitude  and  compara 
tive  darkness,  communed  together  of  their  own,  and  the  dis 
tressing  condition  of  their  friends.  It  was  a  melancholy  sort 
of  consolation,  this  comparison  of  gloomy  notes.  At  the  end 
of  this  time,  the  lock  was  shot  back,  the  door  opened,  and  an 
uncouth  and  ungainly  looking  white  woman,  with  reddish  hair, 
and  purplish  nose,  made  her  appearance,  and  silently  drawing 
out  the  table,  spread  over  it  a  dingy  cloth,  laid  plates  and  knife 
and  fork,  arranged  certain  cups  and  saucers  and  bowls  in  order, 
and  then  said  : — 

'•  I  reckon  you'll  be  wanting  a  leetle  supper,  won't  you  ?" 

The  elderly  lady  nodded  assent. 

"  They  don't  mean  to  starve  us,  at  all  events,"  she  said  to  her 
daughter.  Meanwhile  the  woman  disappeared,  and,  in  ten 
minutes  after,  returned  with  dishes  of  corn  hoe-cake,  and  fried 
bacon,  and  a  vessel  of  coffee.  How  she  carried  .all  in  one  arm 
ful,  was  something  of  a  mystery  to  both  the  ladies.  But  she 
did  carry  all,  with  equal  ease  and  dexterity. 

"  Well,  mem,  your  supper's  ready." 

"  Thank  you.  Can  I  have  my  own  servant-girl  to  attend  on 
me  ?"  inquired  the  matron. 

"  I  don't  know,  mem  ;  I'll  ax  the  men-folk.     They  knows." 

She  went  out.  There  was  some  delay  in  her  return  ;  in  truth, 
the  subject  was,  for  awhile,  under  discussion  with  Jeff  Rhodes 
and  his  gang ;  but  consent  was  finally  yielded,  and  the  servant 
girl  inacle  her  appearance  in  the  prison.  The  poor  creature  ran 
up  to  her  mistresses,  and  caught  their  hands  with  the  eager  joy 
of  one  who  has  just  escaped  the  clutches  of  the  cormorant. 

"  Oh  !  misses  —  oh  !  Miss  Bert'a  —  I  was  afeard  I  was  nebber 
guinc  see  you  agin.  Dey  lock  me  up  in  house  wkh  Cato,  and 
Oato's  mos'  go  inad,  kaise  he  ain't  le'  'em  see  to  he  hoss." 

vVe  can  readily  imagine  the  martinet  Jehu  denied  to  attend 
his  horses. 

lie  negro-girl  had  seen  little  more  than  her  mistresses 


GLIMPSES    OF   CAPTIVITY.  109 

She  could  add  nothing  to  their  stock  of  information.  They 
made  her  share  their  prison. 

When  supper  was  over,  the  red-headed  woman,  who  had 
attended  throughout  the  repast,  removed  the  remnants;  the 
negro-girl  having  first  been  assigned  a  portion  of  the  supper,  to 
the  manifest  disquiet  of  the  woman,  who  growled  dissent,  but 
in  vain.  When  she  disappeared  the  door  was  again  locked 
upon  the  party,  and  they  remained  prisoners  for  the  night. 

Sunrise  brought  them  a  rude  breakfast;  noon,  dinner;  night 
supper  and  sleep  again ;  and  thus  several  days  passed,  and  the 
captives  were  allowed  to  see  nobody  but  the  red-headed  woman. 
Cato,  similarly  bonded,  was  furious ;  but  he  raved  only  to  the 
walls  of  his  log-prison.  His  mistresses  asked  after  him,  of  the 
woman  who  served  them,  but  her  only  answer  —  "I  reckon 
he's  doing  very  well" — afforded  little  satisfaction.  Of  course 
their  anxieties  increased.  Poor  Bertha  began,  at  length,  to 
fancy  that  the  world  had  quite  forgotten  her,  and  Willie  Sin 
clair  in  particular.  The  young  are  very  apt  to  be  unjust  when 
they  are  unhappy. 

Meanwhile,  Jeff  Rhodes  was  busy  —  mysteriously  so  —  play 
ing  the  politician  with  the  profound  gravity  becoming  a  states 
man  who  has  large  provinces  in  jeopardy.  His  emissaries  were 
as  busy  as  himself.  He,  and  they,  were  continually  going  and 
returning.  Sometimes  they  departed  at  night;  —  sometimes 
returned  under  its  cover.  They  were  all  practised  woodsmen, 
and  they  wrought,  in  their  mysterious  crafts,  with  .equal  celerity 
and  secresy.  They  went  abroad  alternately,  mostly  going  up 
ward;  and,  with  each  returning  agent,  Jeff  Rhodes's  gravity 
increased.  His  politics  were  embarrassed  by  certain  unexpected 
impediments.  Even  a  scoundrel,  with  the  devil's  help,  can  not 
always  have  his  own  way. 

"  Why,  where  the  h — 1  can  old  Travis  be  ?"  he  said  to  his 
fellows,  while  in  secret  consultation  with  them,  in  one  of  the 
cabins,  after  several  unfruitful  expeditions  had  been  made  up 
to  the  precincts  of  Orangeburg.  "  I  tell  you,  boys,  he  must  be 
found !" 

"  Well,  you  must  find  him  yourself,"  was  the  rough  answer  01 
his  son  Nat ;  "  for  I  ain't  guiiie  agin.  There's  too  much  rv>sk 
in  it." 


110  EUTAW. 

"  Why,  where 's  the  resk  I  wants  to  know  ?" 

"  Ef  you  wants  to  know,  go  yourself." 

"  Well,  so  I  would,  sooner  than  trust  sich  a  good  calkilation, 
to  such  poor  shoats  and  cowards ;  ef  I  were  a  leetle  more  spry 
and  active  now,  you'd  soon  see  what  I  could  do." 

"Cowards!"  said  Nat;  "  why,  you  wouldn't  have  one  man 
face  all  Greene's  army,  and  Marion's  men,  and  Sumter's :  to 
say  nothing  of  the  red-coats  that  air  as  thick  as  dogwood  bios 
soms,  in  spring-time,  in  Orangeburg.  I  tell  you,  it  calls  foi 
mighty  nice  snaking  to  get  through  among  all  these  people 
It's  sartin  that  Cappin  Travis  ain't  at  his  place,  for  its  all 
burnt  down,  smack  and  smooth !  The  house,  kitchen,  and  out 
houses,  are  all  in  ashes.  I  reckon,  'twas  done  only  last  night 
for  the  ashes  is  hot  to  the  feel  yit." 

"  Where  kin  he  be  ?" 

"  That's  it !     Find  out,  old  sodger !" 

"  So  I  will,  if  I  hev  to  go  my  own  self!  I  tell  you,  Cappir 
Travis  is  a  man  to  sweat  gould,  and  these  wimmins  is  his  wif< 
and  only  darter,  and  he'll  pay  through  the  nose  to  get  'em  back 
again  safe." 

"  Well,  I'm  ready  for  the  gould  sweating,  whenever  you  kii 
find  the  man;  but  that  /  hain't  been  able  to  do  yit.  Ant' 
'tain't  me  only.  Did  Clem  Wilson  do  any  better ;  or  Barney 
Gibbes  1  Barney  got  into  Orangeburg,  itself;  but  could  d 
nothing,  and  hear  nothing,  when  he  got  there.  Ef  you  think 
you  kin  do  better,  try  it  —  that's  all.  The  road's  open." 

"  Well,  so  I  will ;  stiff  in  the  j'ints  as  I  am,  sooner  than  los 
all  the  profits  that  we've  been  honestly  working  a'ter.     Bo. 
you  try  it  to-morrow,  John  Friday." 

"  I'm  willing.  But  I  don't  think  I'm  any  better  in  the  bushe 
than  Nat  and  Clem." 

"  Never  you  mind.  Luck's  all.  It'll  be  your  chaince,  i 
reckon." 

And  the  next  day,  John  Friday  went  on  the  snaking  expe 
iit'on.  He  returned  the  day  after,  making  no  better  report 
:han  his  predecessors ;  and  Jeff  Rhodes  finally  looked  round  to 
Mat  Floyd. 

"A'ter  all,  Mat's  the  boy  (o  do  the  business.  There's  nu 
better  scout  in  all  this  country  than  Mat  Floyd.  Now,  he 


GLIMPSES   OP   CAPTIVITY.  ^ 

knows  the  Edisto  country  like  a  book ;  and  he  knows  old 
Orang-,!jurg  like  a  woman;  and  ef  he  kain't  find  out  where 
Gappi'j  Travis  is,  then  I  give  up !  Mat,  you're  the  boy  to  do 
this  bu  iiness." 

The  blarney  scarcely  sufficed  to  prompt  the  slow  spirit  of 
Mat  Floyd  to  undertake  a  mission  in  which  all  had  thus  far 
failed,  and  about  which  there  really  hung  no  small  danger.  Mat, 
just  then,  had  a  strong  and  vivid  image  before  his  mind's  eye, 
of  that  fep./ful  scene,  which,  as  we  remember/so  painfully  haunts 
the  memory  of  his  sister.  It  was  from  Nelly's  graphic  portrait 
ure,  indeed,  that  Mat  had  received  his  most  vivid  impressions  of 
the  terrors  which  Fate  had  for  him  in  store. 

He  was  reluctant  accordingly.  But  the  subtle  Jeff  Rhodes 
knew  the  character  of  his  victim.  He  had  his  arguments  for 
every  objection ;  his  persuasions  for  every  mood  of  the  weak, 
vacillating  creature ;  and  the  scruples  of  Mat  Floyd  were 
finally  overcome. 

"  As  for  the  danger,"  quoth  Jeff,  "  where  was  the  danger  to 
Nat  Rhodes,  and  the  rest  ?  They  went,  and  come,  and  hadn't 
even  a  scare !" 

"Yes,  but  they  didn't  go  far  enough.  They  did  nothing- 
found  out  nothing ;  and  you  wants  me  to  see  ef  I  kain't  go  far 
ther,  and  find  out  better  than  them  !  Well,  I  tells  you,  I  knows 
there's  great  danger.  I'd  rather  not  go  !" 

"  What !  scared  at  your  own  shadow,  Mat  V 

And  the  morale  of  poor  Mat  yielded  to  the  taunts  of  his 
companions,  even  when  they  failed  to  convince  his  reason.  He 
departed  that  very  night  for  Orangeburg  and  the  Edisto  country, 
in  search  of  a  person  who  could  be  made  to  "  sweat  gould." 

And  where  was  he,  the  aforesaid  "  ^rald  sweater"  1  Poor 
Mrs.  Travis,  whom  our  outlaws  supposed  to  know  all  about  her 
husband  and  his  whereabouts,  would  have  given  the  world  to 
find  him.  And  others,  too,  were  in  search  —  Sinclair,  Sb. 
Julien  —  representing  the  anxieties  of  persons  even  greater 
than  themselves.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether  Mat  Floyd  will 
be  able  to  gather  much  in  his  mission, 

Poor  Captain  Travis  did  not  exactly  kn:w  wher.,  he  waa 
himself.  He  had,  in  fact,  but  one  friend  who  did  know  at  tait 
juncture  Let  us  look  after  him. 


112  EUTAW. 

It  is  barely  a  week  since  Captain  Traris  fell  into  the  hands 
of  Lis  subtle  enemy,  Richard  Ingleliardt,  captain  of  loyalist 
rifles.  He  knew  his  danger  from  such  a  condition  of  captivity, 
in  the  hands  of  such  a  foe.  But  his  fears  for  himself  were  not 
of  a  sort  to  humble  him,  or  make  him  afraid.  He  had  steeled 
himself  to  every  fortune ;  and,  though  not  a  good  man  exactly, 
he  had  nerve  and  resolution,  and.  was  determined  that  there 
should  be  no  sacrifices  made  for  himself.  But,  even  in  the  hour 
when  he  made  this  resolve,  he  discovered  that  his  only  son, 
Henry — a  noble  boy  of  fifteen  —  had  also  fallen  into  the  same 
remorseless  hands.  It  was  not  till  the  moment  of  that  discovery 
that  he  felt  properly  his  sense  of  destitution  and  desperation. 
Wo  need  not  attempt  to  describe  his  misery ;  but  he  did  not 
yet  dream  how  much  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  his  foe ! 

Travis  and  his  son  were  not  forgotten,  or  abandoned,  by  their 
friends.  An  admirable  scout  was  Jim  Ballou,  of  Sinclair's 
brigade  of  "  swamp-foxes."  Jim  Ballon  was  put  upon  trail,  after 
Ingleliardt,  Travis,  and  the  boy.  A  keen  hound  was  Jim  after 
ahot  trail.  He  scented  the  outlaws;  followed  them  down  from 
Holly-Dale,  to  Oak  grove  —  Chevillette's — and  below  it,  for  a 
mile  or  so ;  —  found  the  nest  warm,  but  the  birds  flown  ! 

Jim  was  not  to  be  baffled.  He  again  found  the  trail,  and 
followed  —  slow  but  sure  —  giving  no  tongue,  and  suffering 
nothing  to  escape  his  vigilance.  He  could  calculate  how  many 
hours  ahead  of  him  were  the  fugitives,  and  he  timed  his  own 
p r ojpects  accordingly.  He  was  but  one,  but  the  party  he  pur- 
Eued  were  several ;  and  among  them  was  a  famous  scout,  rank 
ing  next  to  himself,  called  "The  Trailer"  and  he  had  for  a 
companion,  a  terrible  desperado,  whose  nom  de  niquc  was  Hell 
:«re  J>ick!  Inglchardt  himself  was  one  of  the  party,  a  wily, 
liold,  cool,  and  intelligent  soldier;  not  exactly  a  desperado  — 
f>r  1)  j  was  a  subtle  calculator  —  but  with  morals  sufficiently 
.,  yil>v3  for  ;n}. 

oiin  Ballo'.i  was  not  required  to  gather  up  the  fugitives;  — 

li'v  u>  track  and  earth  'hem.     And  he  was  the  proper  man  for 

\  ,,v!  pursuit.     He  followed  all  day  with  the  scent  of  a  bloodhound. 

>.t\vd  !   how*  hot !"  he  cried,  as  he  took  a  half  hour's  rest  to- 

••VMI'U  suiioet,  in  the  thick,  woods  skirting  the  formidable  recesse? 

f  Ji^,  1:  our-Holes  swamp. 


GLIMPSES   OF   CAPTIVITY. 

"Lawd  !  if  I  only  had  a  drink  now  —  Jamaica,  peach,  wins- 
key  !  But  if  I  liad,  'twere  as  much  as  my  soul's  worth  to  drink ! 
No  !  Jim  Ballou,  you've  sworn  not  to  touch,  taste,  or  handle, 
and  you  mustn't! — but,  0  Lawd !  'tain't  against  the  oath  to 
wish  for  it !  I  do  wish  for  it,  T  do  !  I  do  !" 

And  he  supped  sparingly  of  the  waters  of  a  branch  that 
trickled  below  him.  He  supped  and  was  refreshed. 

"  Water,  in  a  naked  state,"  quoth  he,  "  is  not  altocether 
decent  drinking : — not  decent  —  but  as  I've  sworn  off  from  all 
better  drink,  it's  only  wisdom  and  decency  to  swear  by  water. 
Swear  by  water  !  Well,  it'll  do,  and  that's  about  as  much  as  1 
can  decently  say  in  its  favor.  'Twill  do  !" 

And  he  laid  himself  down  in  the  shade  upon  the  grasses  of 
the  little- hill-slope,  shut  his  eyes,  and  seemed  as  much  a  vagrant 
as  any  urchin  that  ever  fancied  the  sunshine  only  signified  play- 
thri'%  and  the  night  sleep.  His  horse,  meanwhile,  more  busy 
but  not  less  gratefully  employed,  browsed  about  amid  the  herb 
ag<-,  of  (he  spot,  and  supped  of  the  naked  water  also. 

"Xow,"  mused  Jim  Ballou  —  "now,  here  we  are,  and  these 
acamps  ain't  quite  half  an  hour  ahead  of  me!  I  mustn't  push 
them  too  closely.  They'll  hardly  go  farther  to-night.  It's 
clear  they're  making  for  the  swamp  ;  and  half  an  hour's  farther 
working  will  bring  'em  to  'Brain's  castle.  Now,  here's  the 
proof  of  the  major's  right  way  of  looking  at  things.  Who 
taught  Hell-fire  Dick  the  way  to  'Bram's  castle  in  the  Four- 
Holes?  Who  but  Jim  Ballou  —  and  Jim  Ballou  drunk  — 
drunk  !  drunk  !  Jim  Ballou  drunk  !  Jim  Ballou,  if,  after  this, 
you  again  get  drunk,  may  the  Lord  ha'  mercy  on  your  soui, 
—  for,  if  I'm  to  be  the  judge,  I'll  have  none!  When  the 
war's  over,  and  there's  no  more  work  for  the  scout,  then  you 
may  drink,  Jim  Ballou,  but  not  a  drop  before  —  not  a  Jiop 
before !" 

He  shut  his  eyes,  and  rested,  as  if  asleep,  for  about  ten  min 
utes  longer. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  while  in  this  position,  "  if  it's  to  'Bram's  ^os- 
tie  that  they're  bound,  they've  pretty  nigh  reached  it  Ij  'biu 
time,  and  I  must  take  the  trail  afoot.  If  they're  gone  beyx-id, 
why,  it's  only  half  an  hour's  extra  work,  and  I  can  catch  ti^. 
with  them  by  an  extra  start  in  the  morning.  I'll  give  fem 


114  ED  TAW. 

My  eyes  want  another  ten  minutes'  rest.     I'll  give  'em  tiiiie- 
ticne  !  —Rope  enough  —  rope  enough  !" 

But,  with  the  final  setting  of  the  sun,  our  scout  started  up 
and,  having  securely  fastened  his  horse  in  the  thicket,  he  tool? 
the  trail  on  foot.  It  was  a  nice  and  perilous  business  which  la} 
before  him  —  that  of  penetrating  an  enemy's  camp,  held  by  hair 
a  dozen  or  more,  by  a  single  man,  afoot,  and  treading  —  as  he 
might  be  —  every  step,  toward  an  ambush  or  a  viper ! 

"  But  who's  afraid  ?"  demanded  Ballou,  somewhat  fiercely,  of 
that  questioner,  within  his  own  heart,  which  had  intimated,  in  a 
Whisper,  the  perils  of  the  path  before  him. 

"  Who's  afraid  ?  There's  one  to  a  dozen,  may  be,  but  that 
one's  me,  Jim  Ballou  —  Jim  Ballou  !  It's  not  so  easy,  my  friend, 
to  take  the  turn  on  me.  I  know  my  business  —  foxing, 'snaking 
moling,  cooning,  possuming,  and,  if  need  be,  wolfing! — these 
being  the  six  degrees,  in  all  of  which,  to  be  worth  anything,  a 
scout's  got  to  graduate !  But  he's  to  be  born  to  it,  besides. 
These  are  natural  gifts.  Education  can  improve  'em,  no  doubt, 
but  can't  create  them!  Remember  that,  brother  —  remembei 
that  —  remember ! 

"  Now,  being  jest  the  scout  I  am,  I  hope  I  ain't  afraid.  And, 
then,  don't  I  know  this  pretty  little  hiding-place,  like  a  book  ? 
Haven't  I  turned  over  all  its  leaves,  page  after  page,  syllable 
by  syllable,  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  for  weeks  and 
months  together  1  Ah  !  most  excellent  Captain  Inglehardt,  and 
you  Devil  Dick,  and  you  Trailer,  there  are  some  secrets  of  that 
little  hiding-place  in'  which  you  are  scrooging,  which  you  can't 
lay  hands  on  in  a  hurry ;  and,  by  them  secrets,  I'll  hunt  you 
up,  and  hear  what  you've  got  to  say,  or  there's  no  snakes  within 
a  thousand  miles  !  —  no  snakes  —  a  thousand  miles  !" 

In  pursuance  of  this  determination,  our  scout  made  his  ap 
proaches  with  eminent  caution,  and  finally  buried  himself  com 
pletely  in  the  swamp.  Above  him,  some  hundred  yards,  was 
a  little  hammock  or  islet  of  the  swamp,  upon  which  stood  a  log- 
hut,  known  to  the  men  of  Marion,  or  rather  known  to  a  few  of 
t!i em,  as  "'Brain's  cabin,"  or  castle  —  'Bram,  the  former  occu 
pant,  being  a  confidential  slave  of  one  of  the  partisan  officers 
We  shall  probably  hear  of  him  in  other  pages.  To  this  spot 


GLIMPSES   OF   CAPTIVITY.  115 

Ballon  made  his  approaches,  in  a  style  to  make  a 'fox  jealous 
and  emulous.     His  discoveries  finely  satisfied  himself. 

"  We've  treed  the  coons  ;  but  that's  all !  They're  in  posses 
sion  of  'Bram's  castle.  But  how  long  will  they  keep  there  1 
That's  the  question.  Will  they  stay  there  long?  No  !  Why  ? 
Because  they  know  it's  one  of  our  harboring-places,  and  they'll 
be  naturally  looking  for  some  of  us  to  ibe  coming  down  upon 
'em.  What  then  ?  what's  to  he  done  ?  Can  I  get  back  to  the 
Edisto,  find  Major  Willie,  and  bring  him  back  in  time  to  smoke 
the  beasts  in  their  hollow  ?  It  must  be  tried  !  But  can't  I  get 
at  their  counsels  —  get  on  the  hammock  itself,  and  snake  about 
for  discoveries?  Why  not?  It's  a  ticklish  business  —  ticklish 
—  but  what  isn't  ticklish,  in  the  way  of  business,  in  these  times  ? 
Ticklish  —  ticklish  ;  but  no  trying,  no  doing  !  They  don't  reck 
on,  on  pursuit  jist  yet.  They  hardly  think  me  so  soon  upon 
their  haunches.  Devil  Dick's  drinking,  no  doubt:  the  Trailer 
helps  him,  thinking  his  work's  done  for  the  day  !  They're  sup 
ping  and  drinking,  I  reckon,  under  some  tree ;  and  I  can  snake 
round  'em,  and  listen  —  snake  and  listen  !" 

He  did  so  !  On  the  extreme  upper  end  of  the  islet  he  found 
Devil  Dick  and  the  Trailer,  with  two  others,  busy,  by  a  bright 
firelight,  at  the  fragments  of  a  supper.  Ballou  worked  around 
them  with  wonderful  dexterity.  He  listened  for  a  while  to 
wlu.v  they  had  to  say ;  but  their  talk  was  that  of  the  revel 
ler  —  or  rather  the  marauder  —  in  a  maudlin  and  half-drowsy 
mood. 

:/  Nothing's  to  be  got  from  them.  I  must  see  now  after  Ingle- 
uardt  and  his  prisoners  ;: 

Crawling,  creeping,  gliding,  he  made  his  way  to  the  rear  of 
Bram's  cabin  A  light  gleamed  from  the  fireplace  within.  He 
."icard  voices,  and  stopped  beneath  the  eaves  to  listen. 

'  Thaf's  Captain  Travis.     It's  too  quick  for  Inglehardt." 

Ingleharai  s  answer  was  tco  faint,  too  low  of  tone,  to  inform 
he  listener.  He  looked  up  to  the  poplar  that  stood  just  beside 
the  chimney  of  the  cabin.  The  chimney  was  of  clay,  the  noz 
zle  barely  shooting  up  above  the  gable.  Quick  as  thought, 
Ballon  leaped  up  and  threw  his  arms  and  legs  about  the  tree, 
He  climbed  like  a  squirrel.  He  was  up  in  a  few  moments,  and, 
perched  on  one  of  the  houghs,  could  look  over,  down  into  the 


113  EUTAW. 

very  fireplace  of  the  cabin.  The  place  was  favorable  to  hear 
ing,  when  Travis  spoke;  hnt.  the  subdued  tones  of  Inglehardt 
baffled  him.  He  vainly  tried  to  catch  the  syllables.  He  could 
only  hear  a  buzz.  Let  us  assert  the  privilege  which  our  scout 
may  not,  and  enter  to  the  conference  boldly.  We  shall  be  sure 
to  remain  unseen. 


FATHER   ANT-   SON   TN   FETTERS.  !  1  T 


CHAPTER   XI. 

FATHER    AND    SON    IN    FETTERS. 

THE  hovel  in  the  Four-Holes  swamp,  distinguished  by  the 
imposing  title  of  " 'Bram's  castle"  —  more  properly  "  'Bram's 
cabin"  —  contained  but  two  apartments;  one  a  sort  of  hall,  the 
other  a  sleeping-room.  A  party  of  three  persons  occupies  the 
hall  at  the  moment  when  we  look  in  upon  them.  Two  of  them 
are  prisoners,  Captain  Travis  and 'his  son  Henry  —  the  latter 
a  boy  about  fifteen ;  the  former  might  have  been  fifty.  They 
both  sat  upon  the  floor,  and  both  were  handcuffed.  The  boy 
looked  weary  and  dispirited ;  the  father,  when  not  looking  at 
the  son,  wore  an  aspect  of  stern  defiance.  The  third  person  in 
the  apartment  was  Captain  Richard  Inglehardt,  of  the  loyalist 
rifles,  a  cool,  selfish  politician  —  something  of  a  soldier,  but  more 
of  a  politician  —  a  man  of  singular  manners  for  a  rustic  people, 
with  subtlety  suited  to  an  old  convention,  and  lacking  in  that  im 
pulse  and  enthusiasm  which  seem  more  natural  and  more  neces 
sary  to  a  new  one.  He  was  stretched  out  negligently  upon  a 
military  cloak,  not  far  from  the  fireplace,  in  which  a  few  brands 
had  been  kindled,  for  the  purpose  of  light  rather  than  of  warmth. 
Their  blaze  enables  us  to  take  in  the  group,  and  note  with  ease 
the  expressions  of  their  several  faces.  The  floor  is  strewed  with 
broom-straw,  which,  in  a  log-cabin,  is  no  inappropriate  substitute 
for  a  Brussels  carpet. 

The  moment  which  we  take  for  entering  the  chamber,  finds 
the  two  men  already  engaged  in  a  discussion,  the  preliminaries 
of  which  have  been  dismissed.  We  will  have  to  take  certain 
things  for  granted.  The  parole  is  with  Inglehardt.  His  tones 


T  1  H  EUTAW. 

were  exceedingly  mild  and  subdued,  insinuating,  and  even  cor 
dial  ;  but  there  was  an  under-noto  of  sarcasm  in  them  which  the 
substance  of  his  words  implied  also. 

"  My  dear  Captain  Travis,  it  was  a  game  which  we  played  — 
each  knowing  his  hand,  and  playing  at  his  own  discretion.  The 
hands  may  have  been  equal  or  not.  You,  at  all  events,  did  not 
regard  them  as  favorable  to  me.  You  took  the  chances  of  the 
game,  and  have  no  right  to  complain,  You  calculated  on  count 
ing  honors ;  certainly,  my  dear  captain,  you  have  taken  good 
heed  to  the  profits.  You  made  some  good  points  in  the  game. 
I  confess  you  outwitted  me  with  your  skill  more  than  once ;  but 
you  failed  in  the  odd-trick.  Have  I  stated  the  case  fairly,  Cap 
tain  Travis  ?" 

"D — n  the  game,  sir!"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  a  game  lost  is  properly  a  game  damned !  But  il 
helps  the  loser  nothing  to  lose  his  temper  with  it.  You  have 
lost  the  one  game,  but  you  have  others  yet  to  play.  You  have 
capital  enough  to  resume  the  contest.  Let  us  look  at  youi 
position." 

"  You  have  it  in  a  word,  sir.     I  am  your  prisoner." 

"  Yes,  that  is  something ;  but  a  resurvey  of  our  game  will  re 
veal  much  besides  that  it  is  important  for  you  to  remember. 
As  a  British  commissary,  sir,  largely  trusted  by  Colonel  Balfoui 
and  my  Lord  Rawdon,  you  grew  to  riches.  My  own  estimate, 
captain,  of  your  resources,  gives  you  a  fortune  of  some  hundred 
thousand  dollars." 

"  You  have  certainly  kept  a  closer  watch  upon  my  interests 
than  ever  I  did  myself." 

"  Nay,  captain,  in  saying  that,  you  do  injustice  to  your  own 
thrift.  You  have  been  a  vigilant  accumulator,  and  a  most  keen 
accountant.  That  I  have  been  able  and  willing  to  observe 
your  progress,  in  fortune-making,  is  only  a  proof  of  my  great 
sympathy  in  your  success.  But,  in  the  midst  of  this  success, 
you  fancied  a  condition  of  public  insecurity  under  his  majesty's 
government,  the  results  of  some  very  mistaken  calculations, 
which  led  you,  my  dear  captain,  to  the  further  mistake  of  enter 
ing  into  treasonable  negotiations  with  the  enemy.  You  began 
to  see  a  beauty  in  rebellion  which,  hitherto,  you  had  only  seen 
in  loyalty.  I  undertook  to  savo  you  from  this  error ;  and,  the 


FATHER   AND   SON   IN    FETTERS.  119 

to  do  so,  would  have  allied  my  fortunes  with  your  own. 
jfou  pretended  to  welcome  the  alliance — " 

"Never,  sir  —  never!  I  told  you,  in  so  many  words,  that  I 
.oathed  it  and  scorned  it  from  my  innermost  soul,  and  only  sub 
mitted  to  the  suggestion  in  a  moment  of  necessity." 

"  That  is,  when  you  found  the  honors  against  you,  and  some 
langer  of  losing  that  odd-trick  besides.  But  you  labor  under  an- 
)ther  error,  Captain  Travis.  You  did  not  venture  to  tell  me  of  this 
scorn  and  loathing  until  the  moment  when,  with  hands  full  (as 
you  thought)  of  trumps,  you  were  about  to  turn  the  tables  upon 
me.  Up  to  that  moment,  my  dear  captain,  you  were  pleased 
,;o  encourage  my  humble  suit  to  your  daughter.  Ay,  sir,  er 
;ouraged ;  and  you  contrived,  with  admirable  art,  I  admit,  s 
keep  me  in  a  state  of  delusive  expectation  on  this  score  for  a 
very  considerable  space  of  time.  Well,  the  game  is  played 
nit,  and  you  have  lost.  The  stake,  substantially,  was  some 
thing  more  than  fortune.  It  was  life,  sir,  and  liberty  !  The 
proof  is  here,  in  your  present  position,  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
3f  a  captain  of  loyalists,  who  has  the  proof  in  his  possession  of 
four  treasonable  intercourse  with  the  enemy,  to  say  nothing  of 
i  goodly  catalogue  of  money-defalcations,  forgeries,  and  false 
accounts,  the  least  of  which  dooms  you  to  the  gallows." 

The  boy's  face  flushed ;  he  writhed  himself  about,  and,  look 
ing  the  speaker  full  in  the  face,  he  cried  out  to  his  father : — 

"  Oh,  my  father,  speak  —  tell  this  man  that  he  lies  !     Oh,  tha 
my  hands  were  free  !" 

Ingiehardt  only  smiled  —  a  serpent-smile  —  as  he  witnessed 
the  ingenuous  indignation  of  the  boy.  The  father  remaned 
ulent.  Ingiehardt  resumed,  coolly  and  softly  :  — 

"  Were  he  to  do  so,  Henry,  he  would  only  lie  himself." 

The  boy  sobbed,  and  his  face  drooped.  The  father  look; 3 
ound  fiercely,  as  he  said  to  the  boy  : — 

"  Heed  nothing  that  this  man  says,  my  son  !  I  have  en  :d, 
10  doubt ;  but  it  is  not  for  him  to  judge  my  conduct,  nor  is  it 
or  you.  It  will  be  time  enough  for  a  son  to  do  so  when  his 
•ather's  in  the  grave.  My  motives  are  as  much  above  Ms  con 
jectures,  as  they  are  above  your  present  experience.  I  will 
nswer  all  doubts  in  due  season,  rny  son  —  and,  I  trust,  atone 
or  all  wrong-doing  to  others,  of  which  I  may  be  guilty." 


120  BUT  AW. 

It  was  a  beautiful  feature  in  the  scene,  that  the  father,  wif-k 
ed  as  he  might  be,  should  strive  to  protect  himself  from  the 
judgments  of  the  son.     Of  his  mode  of  doing  so,  we  need  say 
nothing  now.     Inglehardt,  with  a  sneering  smile,  replied : — 

"It  does  not  much  matter,  Captain  Travis,  what  the  boy 
thinks." 

"Ay,  sir,  but  it  does,"  answered  the  father  fiercely  —  "it 
5 :  >s  matter  much,  sir  —  much  that  your  soul  may  not  appre- 
ci.ite,  that  a  child's  ears  should  not  be  wounded  with  the  story 
D£  a  father's  errors,  or  his  young  soul  tortured  with  a  notion  of 
ais  meanness 38  or  crimes.  You,  sir,  with  such  a  soul  as  yours, 
can  hardly  comprehend  this  necessity." 

There  was  a  slight  flush  —  a  very  slight  flush  —  upon  Ingle- 
aardt's  cheek,  when  this  speech  was  uttered  ;  but  he  replied  in 
tones  that  underwent  no  alteration — cool,  quiet,  and  even  in 
sinuating. 

"  It  is,  perhaps,  quite  as  well,  Captain  Travis,  dealing  with 
such  excitable  moods  as  yours,  that  I  should  confine  myself,  as 
much  as  possible,  to  the  subject  of  which  we  were  speaking. 
This  was  your  present  condition.  I  would,  if  possible,  remind 
y^n  of  the  actual  facts  in  your  case.  Whether  I  am  right  or 
wrong,  in  the  statement  which  I  make  of  your  offences  against 
Lis  majesty's  government,  is  for  you  to  determine,  while  here, 
and  to  act  upon  if  you  think  proper.  You  can  best  say  whether 
you  aie  prepared  for  all  alternatives  on  a  trial  under  these 
, --barges  before  a  military  court.  The  substantial  matter  (after 
obis}  remains  untouched.  I  have  said  that  ours  was  a  game. 
It  is  yet  to  be  played  out.  So  far,  neither  has  exactly  gained 
\t~-we  have  both  lost  something.  I  have  certainly  gained 
s:ue  new  securities." 

"  What  are  they  ?"  demanded  Travis. 

'•  Yourself — your  son  !  These  are  guaranties  to  some  extent, 
for  the  stakes  I  have  at  issue." 

"  Myself — my  son  !" 

"Yes!  And  that  there  may  be  no  future  doubt  between  us, 
touching  our  true  relations,  I  have  only  to  repeat  that  the  game 
needo  to  be  finished.  It  remains  the  same,  with  nothing  but  an 
alternative  in  the  stakes  —  and  the  securities!  You  are  aware 
of  what  I  demand.  Neeu  I  say  to  you,  that  your  own,  and  the 


FATHER   AND  SON    IN    FETTERS.  121 

liberty  of  your  son,  will  follow  instantly  upon  your  compliance 
with  my  demand,  and  your  mutual  safety  will  depend  upon 
it." 

"  Can  it  be,  Inglehardt,  that  you  design  to  keep  that  boy  in 
custody  !  But  I  need  not  ask  the  question,  when  I  see  the  or 
naments  you  have  put  on  his  wrists,  and  feel  them  upon  mine. 
Man,  man  !  what  must  be  the  soul  within  your  breast,  when 
vou  manacle  with  irons  a  child  like  that !" 

"  That  child  shoots  a  pistol  remarkably  well  for  his  years ! 
He  has  the  blood  of  two  of  my  troopers  on  his  hands,  manacled 
as  you  see  them."  Such  was  the  cool  and  indifferent  answer. 
The  speaker  continued,  in  the  same  cool  and  easy  manner. 

"  But  all  this  passionate  declamation,  my  dear  captain,  will 
avail  you  nothing,  and  brings  us  not  one  step  nearer  to  an  ar 
rangement  of  our  affairs.  Your  position  is  one  from  which  your 
own  wits,  unless  under  my  direction,  will  never  extricate  you. 
You  can  only  obtain  release,  by  placing  the  hand  of  Bertha 
Travis  within  mine.  You  hear  the  condition — this  is  my  sine 
qua  non  /" 

"  I  will  rot  in  your  dungeon  first." 

"  But  the  boy  will  rot  too,  Captain  Travis." 

The  father  gazed  on  the  hoy  with  the  bitterest  anguish  in  his 
•countenance. 

•'  Don't  mind  me,  father !"  interposed  the  son.  "  Bertha  shall 
never  marry  such  a  monster.  Let  him  put  what  chains  he 
pleases  on  me ;  I  will  boar  all,  sooner  than  know  that  my  poor 
sister  is  sacrificed  to  such  a  man !" 

"Really,  the  youngster  shows  a  brave  spirit,"  quoth  Ingle 
hardt.  "  He  little  knows  how  bonds  can  break  spirits — how 
boys  may  be  birched  and  sent  to  bed  supperless.  A  military 
school  is  a  hard  one,  Master  Henry,  for  a  very  impetuous 
temper." 

The  father  glared  at  the  speaker  with  eyes  of  a  wolfish  anger, 
but  Inglehardt  only  smiled  complacently. 

"  Think  not  to  escape,  Inglehardt,"  exclaimed  the  prisoner. 
"  You  have  me  now  at  advantage.  But  our  friends  are  in  pur 
suit.  We  shall  be  rescued  —  avenged  !" 

"  I  think  it  likely  that  your  friends  are  busy,  but  it  will  be 
some  time,  my  dear  captain,  before  they  get  on  our  tracks ;  and 

6 


122  BUT  AW. 

we  shall  adopt  the  practice  of  your  Swamp-Fox  —  shift  our  quai 
ters  before  they  can  beat  us  up  in  our  camp." 

"  Sinclair  will  avenge  us  !" 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  encounter  that  handsome  young  gentle 
man,  whenever  he  will  give  me  the  opportunity,  and  hope  to 
give  as  good  an  account  of  him,  as  of  yourself." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ?"  said  the  boy,  "  when  you  met  at  Holly- 
Dale  ?•"  with  an  exulting  voice  and  visage. 

There  was  another  slight  flush  upon  Inglehardt's  visage,  but 
he  quietly  said,  and  with  a  smile : — 

"  Ah  !  you  havre  me  there,  Harry.  Your  Willie  Sinclair  cer 
tainly  caught  me  napping  on  that  occasion.  But  his  success 
was  due  to  papa's  cunning  policy.  It  was  cunning  papa,  Har 
ry,  that  got  me  into  that  scrape.  But  all  papa's  cunning,  you 
see,  couldn't  keep  himself  out  of  it ;  and  Willie  Sinclair's  tri 
umph  has  proved  a  bitter  one,  I  fancy,  to  more  parties  than 
one." 

"  Oh !  that  I  could  see  you  face  to  face  with  the  broad 
sword  !"  cried  the  boy,  even  while  his  eyes  were  gushing  with 
tears. 

"  Hush !  Harry,  my  son !  Hush,"  said  the  more  politic 
father. 

"Nay,  my  dear  captain,  let  the  youth  deliver  himself.  It 
quite  pleases  me  to  behold  such  a  grateful  specimen  of  ingenuous 
manhood.  The  boy  is  wonderfully  promising  —  will  certainly 
distinguish  himself  in  time,  if  not  prematurely  cut  off.  Shak- 
spere  had  his  misgivings  of  smart  boys :  —  'So  wise,  so  young, 
they  say,  do  ne'er  live  long !'  Really,  my  dear  captain,  you 
should  scruple  at  no  small  sacrifices,  that  this  young  eagle  should 
be  once  more  in  the  enjoyment  of  liberty.  Let  me  entreat  yon 
—  give  the  boy  his  freedom." 

"  Fiend !  Bitter,  crue*  fiend  !"  exclaimed  the  father. 
"  What  does  this  profit  you,  Captain  Inglehardt  ?  What  gain 
you  by  these  goads  and  tortures." 

"  Profit  me !  The  question  might  be  put  to  yourself,  dear 
Captain  Travis ;  might  have  been  put  to  you,  every  day  in  tho 
year,  for  the  last  twenty ;  for,  in  all  that  space  of  time,  you 
have  been  toiling  monstrous  hard ;  and  what  does  it  all  profit 
vou  now?  We  do  a  thousand  things  in  life  daily,  my  dear  cap- 


FATHER    AND    SON    IN    FETTERS.  123 

tain,  irrespective  of  the  profit.  Tlie  jest,  the  sarcasm,  the  i;i 
aignation  of  bitter  words  —  the  sneer,  the  sting  which  goad- 
:ne's  enemy  —  what  do  all  these  profit,  if  we  are  to  rate  the 
objects  by  the  material  results.  I  am  profited,  I  fancy,  by  the 
mere  ingenious  speculations,  which  I  make  upon  my  neighbors' 
moods  and  modes  of  thinking  and  feeling.  If,  for  example,  we 
might,  by  a  series  of  experiments,  ascertain  in  just  what  part 
of  an  enemy's  body  or  soul,  he  were  most  sensitive  to  wound 
and  injury,  it  might  be  of  profit  to  know  this  interesting  fact. 
I  like  these  little  exercises  of  ingenuity,  and  never  trouble  my 
self  as  to  the  profit  or  the  loss ;  satisfied,  my  dear  captain,  to 
yield  some  hours,  every  day  of  my  life,  to  the  acquisition  of 
simple  knowledge,  without  a  moment's  thinking  of  the  money 
gain.  Come,  my  dear  captain,  look  upon  life  as  I  do  ;  and 
then,  a  game,  conducted  with  skill  and  fortune,  no  matter  what 
the  result,  will  be  always  compensative  !  are  we  to  play  any 
longer1?  You  know  the  stakes.  Your  own,  and  the  freedom 
of  that  very  interesting  boy  —  very  precocious  boy  he  is  — 
shoots  well  —  remarkably  promising  every  way;  I  say,  my 
dear  captain,  your  own  and  his  freedom;  and  in  return — bonds 
about  the  hands  and  hearts  of  your  fair  daughter  and  myself." 

"  You  are  already  answered." 

"Nay,  nay,  you  answered  me  prematurely  —  in  your  anger. 
Think  better  of  it." 

"  Do  not  think  a  moment,  father.  My  sister  never  shall  marry 
this  man  !  Sooner  let  me  live  and  die  in  fetters." 

Very  proud  and  fond  was  the  look  which  the  wretched  father 
cast  upon  the  boy,  as  his  young  soul  burst  forth  with  this  vehe 
ment  apostrophe. 

"  Bravo  !  my  young  springald  !  You  are  worthy  to  shake  a 
spear  in  the  tilting  at  Marignano.  The  good  knight  Bayardo 
would  have  filled  your  cap  with  crowns,  and  sent  you  home, 
with  a  blessing,  to  your  mother.  But,  suppose  you  leave  the 
further  answer  to  your  general.  That  is  one  of  the  necessary 
lessons  of  all  good  knight-service.  Corne,  dear  Captain  Travis, 
shall  it  be  a  match  1  Shall  we  cut  short  this  tangled  skein  of 
ours  with  a  merry  bridal,  and  cry  quits  for  all  the  past  ?" 

Travis  was  the  man  to  temporize  always,  where  this  was  pos 
sible.  It  was  now,  perhaps,  his  policy  to  do  so. 


124 

*  I  can  not  answer  for  my  daughter/1  said  lie,  with  half  sniTjth 
ered  accents. 

"  Then  you  can't  answer  at  all.  TLat  is  just  such  an  answer 
AS  you  have  fed  me  with  for  six  months.  The  food  is  no  longer 
digestible  —  certainly,  no  l^ngei  palatable.  .Tn  brief  my  cleai 
captain  —  there  is  hut  one  answer  that  ^  cu  ca  /pake  which  will 
be  acceptable.  Your  daughter,  herself  hi  person,  -,vhen  and 
where  I  shall  appoint  to  meet  me  —  ready  to  marry  me  —  and  the 
performance  of  the  ceremony,  by  a  priest  of  the  English  church. 
in  orders  —  this  shall  be  the  only  proper  signal  for  your  release 
from  bondage — yourself,  and  the  promising  young  master,  youi 
son." 

The  spirit  of  the  son  filled  the  struggling  bosom  of  the  father. 

"  Never,  by  act  of  mine  !  Bertha  Travis  shall  be  free  to 
marry  whom  she  pleases." 

"  Ah  !  you  speak  so  hurriedly  !  It  is  the  fault  of  your  pas 
sionate  impulsive  men.  You  never  give  yourself  time.  You 
never  gain  anything  from  the  grand  virtue  of  deliberation.  I 
must  not  take  advantage  of  your  rashness,  and  prove  rash 
myself.  I  will  give  you  time.  Meanwhile,  as  I  say,  you  need 
reflection,  not  argument." 

He  rose  slowly  from  the  floor,  upon  which  he  had  been  half 
reclined  all  the  while,  and,  folding  up  his  cloak  very  carefully, 
unclosed  the  door  and  walked  forth ;  but  only  for  a  moment ; 
and,  standing  at  the  door,  with  the  fastenings  in  his  hand,  he 
whistled,  arid  in  a  few  minutes,  both  Dick  of  Tophet,  and  the 
Trailer  made  their  appearance  —  neither  of  them  quite  sober, 
yet  not  so  drunk  as  to  be  incapable  of  rough  brute  or  mule 
duty. 

"  Come  in  !"  said  the  captain,  "  You  know  what  you  are  to 
do,  Dick." 

"  Oh  !  yes  !  What !  it's  no  go,  eh  ?  He  won't  hear  to  the 
argyment !  Very  well !  We'll  give  him  a  taste  of  the  sort  of 
feeding  and  famishing  he's  to  git  in  our  keeping." 

And,  with  these  words,  Dick  of  Tophet  burst  into  the  hall, 
followed  closely  by  the  Trader,  and,  more  deliberately,  by  Ingle- 
hardt.  The  two  former  approached  the  boy. 

"  Git  up,  young  master,"  said  Dick  to  Henry  Travis,  "  git  up 
we  wants  you!" 


FATHER   AND   SON   IN   FETTERS.  125 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?"  demanded  the  boy  firmly. 

"  That's  telling  !     We  knows  !     Up  with  yon." 

"  I'll  not  rise  till  I  know  what  you  wish  me  for,  I'll  not  go 
with  you !" 

"  Oh !  you  won't,  eh  ?  Well,  it's  easy  to  put  a  little  ring 
round  a  wooden  finger." 

And  the  ruffian  seized  the  boy,  and  lifted  him  as  if  he  were 
an  infant.  The  young  blood  of  Henry  would  have  prompted 
resistance,  but  the  handcuffs  humbled  him.  He  could  offer  none. 
He  sobbed  like  a  child,  when,  forgetting  his  shackles,  he  strove 
in  vain  to  strike. 

"  Oh  !"  he  cried  —  "  if  I  were  but  free  and  hajl  any  weapon." 

"  Sword  or  pistol !  Well,  you'd  use  it,  I  reckon,  for  you  hev 
the  spunk  !  I've  seed  it  a'ready.  But  you  ain't  got  the  we'pon, 
my  lad,  and  so  there's  no  chaince  for  you  but  to  go.  Backing's 
always  a  downhill  game  !" 

"  Father  —  I  leave  you  ?" 

Captain  Travis  had  been  hitherto  so  much  confounded  by  the 
movement,  as  to  be  incapable  of  speech  or  effort.  He  now 
struggled  up,  and  threw  himself  between  the  ruffian  and  the 
door.  But  the  Trailer  swung  him  aside  roughly.  Inglehardt, 
meanwhile,  looked  on,  with  the  air  of  an  indifferent  spectator. 

"  Captain  Inglehardt,  what  are  you-  about  to  do  with  my  son  ?" 

"  Nay,  my  dear  Captain  Travis,  I  am  about  to  do  nothing 
with  him.  I  am  sknply  yielding  him  up  to  his  captor,  Mr.  Joel 
Andrews  —  otherwise  called  Hell-fire  Dick  —  whose  prisoner  he 
properly  is,  and  who  properly  claims  his  custody." 

"  Pshaw,  Inglehardt,  will  you  lie  in  such  a  matter  1  This  is 
your  creature  —  this!" 

"  Lie  !  Really,  Captain  Travis,  your  speech,  for  a  prisoner, 
is,  I  must  be  permitted  to  say  it,  excessively  free  and  easy,  if 
not  elegant.  But,  as  your  situation  is  one  to  impair  your  judg 
ment,  I  pass  over  your  offence.  Properly  speaking,  your  son  is 
the  prisoner  of  Hell-fire  Dick,  and  not  of  Richard  Inglehardt." 

"  You  will  not  tear  the  boy  from  his  father.  Is  it  not  enough 
that  you  hold  us  both  in  these  vile  bonds  1  will  you  add  to  it 
the  useless  torture  of  separation  ?" 

This  was  spoken  in  husky  and  tremulous  accents ;  the  blow 
was  a  terrible  one  under  the  circumstances. 


126  EUTAW. 

"  I  fancy  that  Joel  Andrews  thinks  it  very  far  from  useless 
this  removal." 

"  In  course  I  does,"  cried  the  ruffian,  haling  the  boy  out  on 
his  shoulder ;  "  I  reckon  we'll  find  a  use  for  it  afore  I'ra  done 
with  him,  or  with  you  !" 

"  Great  God !  to  what  am  I  reserved !"  cried  the  wretched 
Travis,  turning  away  from  the  insolent  gaze  of  Inglehardt,  and 
throwing  himself  down  upon  the  floor,  with  his  face  buried 
among  the  rushes. 

Inglehardt  gave  him  but  a  smile  of  triumph ;  then  left  the 
uall  also,  carefully  securing  the  door  behind,  upon  the  outside, 
and  walking  after  his  associates. 

From  the  tree  which  overhung  the  gable  and  the  chimney 
top,  Jim  Ballou,  the  scout,  could  hear  the  retiring  voices  of  the 
party,  as,  followed  by  Inglehardt,  they  bore  the  boy  away  to 
the  upper  edge  of  the  hammock,  where  Dick  of  Tophet  had 
made  his  camp.  The  groans  of  Captain  Travis,  from  below, 
mingled  with  the  sounds.  Finally,  Jim  Ballon  heard  the  groans 
only.  Our  scout  muttered  to  himself: — 

."  Poor  old  gentleman ;  it's  a  d d  hard  tug  now  about  his 

heart-strings !  I'll  try  and  ease  him  with  a  little  hope  and 
comfort ;  though  it's  but  a  word  I've  got  to  say ;  for  I  mustn't 
hang  about  here  too  long  —  not  too  long." 

Detaching  from  the  top  of  the  chimney,  a  small  nugget  of 
clay,  he  dropped  it  down  the  funnel,  and  a  moment  after  the 
groans  of  Travis  ceased.  Dropping  another  bit  of  clay,  our 
scout  then  bent  over  the  chimney,  with  his  mouth  close  to  it,  at 
the  peril  of  inhaling  more  lightwood  smoke  than  was  needed 
for  odor  or  refreshment ;  and  said,  in  steady,  clear,  but  low 
tones : — 

"  Captain  Travis." 

"  Who  speaks  ?" 

"  A  friend,  from  Colonel  Sinclair.  I  have  but  a  moment,  and 
must  be  off  directly.  One  word  only.  Don't  you  be  down 
hearted.  Your  friends  are  busy.  They  are  on  the  watch. 
They  will  save  you  and  your  son.  Only  keep  up  your  spirits, 
and  do  nothing  rashly.  Don't  speak  again.  I  must  be  off.  Only 
hope  —  hope  —  hope  !  That's  Jill.  Hope,  and  God  be  with  you 
as  v-,'0,11  as  hope  !'' 


FATHER    AND   RON    Ttf   FETTERS. 

The  voice  was  silent.  The  prisoner  folded  his  hands  m 
prayer.  He  blushed  as  he  did  so  —  not  for  the  act  —  but  be 
cause  of  its  infrequent  exercise ;  because  of  the  self-reproach 
ful  feeling,  that  it  was  now,  as  it  were,  extorted  from  him,  in 
the  overwhelming  feeling  of  his  own  imbecility.  How  seldom 
had  he  thought  of  prayer  in  his  prosperity.  How  necessary  is 
it  that  the  strong,  and  rich,  and  powerful,  should  be  rebuked  by 
Fortune,  if  only  that  they  should  be  brought,  by  humility,  to  a 
better  knowledge  of,  and  faith  in.  God  I 


EtTTAV, 


CHAPTER    XII 
THE  GALLOWS-BIRD'S  GLIMPSES  OF  THE  GALLOWS. 

•SATISFIED  with  what  he  had  done  —  with  the  information 
gained —  and  the  encouraging  hope  which  he  had  contrived  to 
whisper  into  the  ears  of  the  prisoner  Travis,  Ballon  descended 
from  his  perch  above  the  chimney,  and  was  about  to  £o  back 
wV.ere  he  had  left  his  steed,  when  the  suggestion  occurred  to 
htai,  that  he  might,  by  possibility,  with  skill,  diligence,  and 
girfd  luck,  succeed  in  extricating  the  boy,  Henry  Travr,  from 
l«e  clutches  of  his  captors. 

"He'll  be  kept,  I  reckon,  in  the  camp  of  Devil-Pick  and 
tie  Trailer.  Now,  if  they  should  only  get  drunk  —  eh  ? 
What  might  be  done !  Monongahela  or  Jamaica  —  trong 
drmk's  a  power  of  great  virtue — great  virtue  !  I  shoull  mon- 
ctrcusly  like,  now,  jest  to  smell  at  an  empty  bottle  !" 

And  he  snuffed  with  all  his  nostrils. 

'  But,  it  must  be  an  empty  one  !  'Twould  be  too  great  a  trial 
Oi  strength  to  have  a  full  bottle  put  before  me  now.  Hard 
^ork,  a  long  day's  ride,  and  no  supper  !  Not  a  bite  !  A  full 
oottle  now  would  be,  would  be  a  most  immortal  temptation." 

And  the  scout  sighed  involuntarily,  as  his  imagination  regaled 
his  appetite  and  stimulated  it.  He  continued  his  musings,  with 
a  difference. 

"Now,  if  I  could  find  these  two  blackguards  out  an:l  out 
drunk,  I  could  carry  off  that  dear  little  fellow  from  between 
;em,  and  never  make  an  eyelid  wink!" 

The  long  experience  of  the  scout,  his  great  skill,  his  perfect 
Knowledge  of  the  localities,  and  his  ambition  —  to  say  nothing 
of  his  sympathies  with  the  boy  —  ,-ili  pn-.-inpted  him  to  make  the 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   G -ALLOWS  1OQ 

suggested  trial  of  his  skill ;  and  he  at  once  proceeded  on  tne 
adventure.  How  he  snaked,  and  moled,  and  wsned — going 
through  all  the  degrees  essential  to  a  scout's  diploma  •— through 
all  varieties  of  swamp  and  thicket  —  we  need  not  undertake  to 
narrate.  Enough,  that  he  found  it  impossible  t-j  make  a  suffi 
ciently  near  approach,  under  cover,  to  the  camp  where  the 
party  lay.  In  every  effort,  he  found  the  watchers  on  the  alert 

"  It's  clear  that  they  have  only  had  a  smart  taste  of  th^ 
whiskey.  Neither  the  Trailer  nor  Devil-Dick's  the  man  to 
stop  short  of  regular  drunk,  if  the  liquor  is  to  be  had.  They've 
had  but  a  single  bottle,  and  that's  gone !" 

He  made  the  rounds  of  their  encampment ;  saw  Inglehardt 
once  more  enter  the  cabin  of  'Bram ;  and  shrewdly  conjectured 
that  it  was  his  purpose  to  occupy  one  of  its  apartments  that 
night,  while  Travis  held  possession  of  the  other.  Having  made 
all  his  observations,  Ballou  quietly  stole  off  through  the  swamp 
below,  until  he  reached  the  place  where  his  horse  had  been 
picketed.  He  saddled  the  beast,  cantered  off  three  miles  up 
ward,  and  made  his  owji  bivouac  in  the  forests,  at  that  safe  dis 
tance  from  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  By  next  day's  dawn,  he 
was  again  upon  the  road,  and  pushing  upward  in  the  direction 
of  Orangeburg.  Of  course,  he  knew  nothing  of  the  events 
which  had  taken  place  in  that  precinct,  immediately  after  his 
departure  from  Holly-Dale.  He  was  now  to  find  Sinclair  and 
report  his  progress;  a  matter  of  time  and  some  little  danger 

Leaving  him  to  pursue  his  way,  after  his  own  fashion,  it  is 
t-roper  that  we  should  renew  our  intercourse  with  some  of  the 
other  parties  whom  we  have  left  upon  the  road. 

Mat  Floyd,  we  have  seen  persuaded  to  attempt  an  adventure 
in  which  all  the  other  followers  of  Jeff  Rhodes  had  failed.  Mat 
was  not  more  successful  in  the  enterprise,  though  he  fancied 
that  he  deserved  to  be.  His  search  had  been  more  thorough, 
as  well  at  Holly-Dale  as  in  Orangeburg  itself.  There,  he  had 
an  ancient  acquaintance,  a  fellow  named  Dill,  who  was  some 
thing  of  a  paralytic;  had  lost,  in  a  great  degree,  the  use  of  his 
limbs,  and  remained,  as  an  object  of  commiseration,  free  from 
any  disturbance  by  either  party.  But  Dill  was  not  less  a 
s^amp  because  he  was  a  paralytic ;  and  his  cupidity  was  an 
i?  'igoratiug  passion  which  enabled  him  to  use  his  limbs  for  hii 


EUTAW. 

-wn  purposes,  wtten  no  power  of  tLe  church  could  have  enabled 
h  in  to  do  so,  oven  to  bring  wood  to  the  altar.  Dill  carried  on 
&  small  'business  in  contraband  Jamaica,  which  was  usually 
smuggled  up  the  Edisto  by  confederates.  With  this  potant 
revcrage  he  contrived  to  make  joyous  the  spirits  of  the  runa 
gate  drudges  of  all  parties,  as  they  severally  occupied  the  vil 
lage  We  are  afraid,  if  the  truth  were  known,  that  it  sometimes 
happened  to  Mat  Floyd,  to  facilitate  the  operations  of  Israel 
Dill.  Jeff  Rhodes,  in  his  time,  had  brought  the  boy  to  a  good 
many  strange  experiences.  Dill  harbored  Mat,  on  his  present 
visit;  arid  Mat  —  could  he  do  less?  —  assisted  Dill  in  serving 
out  his  beverages,  to  sundry  scores  of  wild  Irish,  whom  R-aw- 
011*3  orderlies  were  vainly  endeavoring  to  subdue  to  the  sobei 
t  aces  of  the  drill.  It  was  Dill  versus  Drill.  The  influences  ex 
ercised  upon  them,  by  Israel's  Jamaica,  were  in  conflict  with 
Kawdon's  regulations.  A  riot  ensued  —  a  mutiny  in  which  a 
couple  of  the  poor  Hibernians  were  shot  down,  after  bayonet 
ing  one  of  their  officers,  and  a  third  was  hung  up  in  front  of 
the  jail,  and  looking  to  the  river,  by  way  of  encouraging  the 
others  in  a  better  taste  for  innocent  water. 

Mat  Floyd  had  a  terrible  fright  in  consequence.  He  wit 
nessed  a  portion  of  the  fray,  which,  at  one  time,  promised  to 
involve  the  whole  army;  made  his  escape  to  the  river  swamp, 
with  the  spectacle  of  the  hanging  man  continually  passing  be 
fore  the  eyes  of  his  mind ;  and  was  thus  painfully  reminded  of 
the  predictions  of  Nelly  Floyd  in  respect  to  his  own  fate.  He 
brought  away  with  him,  however,  a  bottle  of  Dill's  Jamaica,  the 
gift  of  that  liberal  companion,  whom  he  left  in  the  swamp, 
whither  he  had  fled,  also,  with  a  reasonable  fear  that  some  of 
the  mutineers  might  be  ungrateful  enough  to  reveal,  to  the 
British  officers,  the  source  from  which  they  obtained  the  virtu 
ous  liquor  which  had  made  them  so  vicious. 

Mat  Floyd,  on  separating  from  Israel  Dill,  which  he  did  to 
ward  midnight,  naturally  felt  exceedingly  lonesome.  Besides, 
in  the  hurry  of  their  flight,  the  contrabandistas  had  been  $*yf 
fered  no  time  for  supper.  Alcohol  was  required  to  supplv  the 
place  of  food;  and  Israel  and  Mat  drank  lovingly  together  al 
the  moment  of  separation.  Having  a  bottle  of  his  own,  Mat 
felt  that  he  needed  more  fcod  v- hen  alone.  He  drank  by  the 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   GALiV  WS.  131 

wayside  when,  having  gained  a  cover,  some  two  miles  east  of 
Orangeburg,  he  began  to  feel  a  little  drowsy.  It  had  been  his 
purpose  to  sleep  with  his  friend  Israel  that  night,  and  lodge 
with  him  the  neit  ?.!ay,  using  Israel  to  make  a  search  after 
Travis  through  the  tents  and  lounging-places  of  the  military. 
The  riot,  which  had  so  alarmed  and  driven  them  forth,  had  for 
feited  his  contemplated  sleeping-place.  Fatigue,  fright,  and 
the  Jamaica  he  had  drunk,  now  combined  to  render  sleep  an 
absolute  necessity,  and  picking  out  a  spot  of  select  obscurities 
in  the  woods,  Mat  threw  himself  down  utterly  resigned  to  the 
grateful  drowse  that  was  already  fast  taking  possession  of  his 
senses.  A  single  shaft  of  the  sun  shooting  obliquely  through 
the  tree-tops,  in  the  morning,  penetrated  one  of  his  eyes,  and 
opened  it  to  the  day ;  and,  somewhat  stupidly,  Mat  Floyd 
opened  the  other  ;  and  slowly,  and  rather  stiffly,  he  raised 
himself  up  from  the  earth.  The  first  object  that  met  his  sight 
was  the  bottle  of  Jamaica,  which,  though  a  spirit,  had  slept  be 
side  him  all  night,  as  sluggishly  as  himself.  Mat  felt  heavy, 
and  he  knew  that  spirit  was  light.  He  felt  too  that  the  spirit 
had  rather  bitten  him  the  night  before,  and  he  remembered  the 
vulgar  proverb — "The  hair  of  the  dog  is  good  for  his  bite." 
So  Mat  renewed  his  potations,  and  felt  better,  but  still  slug 
gish.  He  lay  among  the  shadows,  suffering  the  sun  to  make 
rapid  advances,  and  occasionally  applying  the  hair  of  the  ani 
mal  to  his  hurt,  with  the  view  to  perfect  healing.  His  draughts 
increased  the  activity  of  his  meditative  powers.  He  recalled 
the  terrible  scene  of  the  previous  day  which  had  so  much 
alarmed  him.  Once  more  he  beheld  the  hanging  man  strug 
gling  in  his  death  agonies ;  and  he  recalled  the  fearful  predic 
tion  of  Nelly  Floyd.  His  disquiet  became  so  great  that  he 
nervously  swallowed  another  mouthful  from  the  bottle,  while 
his  reflections  declared  themselves  in  open  soliloquy. 

"  I  know'd  there  was  danger.  I  told  Jeff  Rhodes  so.  I'll 
not  go  no  more.  Let  him  go  for  himself.  He's  as  fit  to  hang 
as  me.  He'll  hang  easier,  for  he's  heavier,  and  the  first  jirk  of 
the  drop  will  be  sure  to  crack  his  neck.  But  it  would  be  a 
cruel  siffocating  affair  with  me.  Nelly  said  she  seed  me  all 
black  in  the  face.  That's  a  sign  of  siffocation  —  bloody  siffo- 
cation.  H — 1 !  and  when  I  knows  Mat's  my  danger,  what  for 


132  AK. 

should  I  go  to  Oraiigeburg,  or  am  whar',  to  run  rr  y  reck  iito 
the  noose  with  my  eyes  open  all  the  time  ?  Let  Jeff  Rhode? 
try  it  for  himself.  He's  jest  for  using  my  fingers  to  take  his 
groundnuts  out  of  the  fire.  Let  him  pull  oxit  for  himself  and 
feel  the  fire  how  it  tastes. 

"  And  I'm  to  hang,  Nelly  says  ! 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  I  don't  feel  like  it ;  and  won't,  so  long  as 
I  kin  draw  a  sight  or  use  a  knife.  It's  only  to  skeer  me  off 
from  Rhodes  that  she  tells  that  story.  Skeer  me,  indeed  !  As 
ef  I  was  to  be  skeer'd  by  sich  an  owl  as  that !" 

Here  he  took  another  taste  of  the  Jamaica,  by  way  f  ,'issert- 
ing  his  courage,  and  confirming  it. 

"  But  I  knows  what  Nelly's  after.  She  has  no  )ove  for  J*ff 
Rhodes.  She  wants  to  git  me  off  from  him.  But  it  can't  be 
did,  Nelly.  No !  no !  my  gal,  I'm  not  guine  to  leave  off  a 
business  that  pays  me  in  sich  pretty  little  yellow  b  ys  as 
this." 

Here  he  pulled  a  leather  purse  from  his  pocket,  jingled  it, 
and  poured  out  the  contents,  some  half  dozen  guineas,  the  fruit 
of  the  recent  spoliation  of  Mrs.  Travis,  into  his  hands. 

"  No !  no !  Nelly,  the  business  pays  too  well.  You  needn't 
try  to  skeer  me  from  it.  I'm  not  to  be  skeer'd.  Hanging,  do 
you  say  ?  Siffocation  !  No  !  no  !  when  it  comes  to  that,  knife 
and  pistol  shall  talk  a  bit  first,  and  them  that  would  hang  Mat 
Floyd  must  first  be  able  to  take  him  alive.  They'll  not  find  it 
easy,  I  reckon,  though  they  come  twenty  to  one !  Ef  it's  kil 
ling,  why,  that's  another  question.  The  man  that  sets  out  to 
be  a  sodger,  must  calkilate  that  there's  some  danger  in  the  busi 
ness.  Shot  and  bagnet  are  the  nateral  dangers  of  war-time,  but 
that  don't  mean  siffocation  by  the  rope.  Dang  the  rope  !  What 
did  Nelly  tell  me  about  the  rope  for  ?  To  skeer  me  ?  Skeer 
me!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  How  these  fool  gals  do  talk;  and 
Nelly's  mad  —  that's  sartin.  Poor  Nelly  —  mad  or  not  —  she's 
a  good  gal,  and  loves  me.  But  she  musn't  try  to  skeer  me, 
that's  all.  I'm  not  so  skeery,  Nelly  !" 

And  another  sup  of  the  Jamaica  restored  him  to  all  his  con 
fidence,  and  he  stumbled  up  from  the  ground,  caught  his  horse 
which  had  been  grazing  contentedly  along1  the  grassy  slopes, 
aud  proceeded  to  mount,  whisli  he  dii  with  such  air  effort  as 


GLIMPSES   OF  THE  GALLOWS.  133 

nearly  to  achieve  that  result  of  excessive  ambition,  which,  as 
Shakspcre  tells  us  — 

"  o'erleaps  itself, 

And  falls  on  t'other  side  !" 

It  was  fully  ten  o'clock  when  our  young  sinner,  forgetting  all 
his  fears  of  "  siffocation,"  proceeded  on  his  way  through  the 
woods  at  a  short  distance  from  the  road. 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  tramp  of  a  horse  just  behind  him,  and 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  for  his  pistol.  Possessed  of  this, 
he  wheeled  about  and  lifted  the  weapon.  The  laugh  of  Nelly 
Floyd  herself  reassured  him ;  and  the  next  moment,  riding  up, 
sh?.  exclaimed — 

"  Why,  Mat,  what  sort  of  weapon  is  that  which  you  carry  ?" 

It  was  only  when  this  question  was  asked  him,  that  he  be 
came  conscious  that,  instead  of  a  pistol,  he  had  grasped  by  the 
neck,  and  presented  at  the  supposed  enemy,  the  bulky  butt  of 
his  Jamaica  bottle !  The  fellow  was  not  too  drunk  or  stupid 
not  to  feel  his  face  flush  with  shame  at  the  revelation  he  had 
made ;  and  it  didn't  need  his  words  — 

"Why,  Nelly,  gal,  how  you  skeer'd  me!"  —  to  make  her 
comprehend  his  half-besotted  condition. 

"  Mat,  Mat,  you've  been  drinking !     You  are  drunk." 

This  was  said  with  a  sort  of  horror  in  her  voice.  She  had 
never  seen  him  thus  before. 

"  Drunk  ?  By  — ,  Nelly,  ef  any  man  had  called  me  drunk, 
I'd  ha'  been  into  him  with  a  bloody  spur !" 

"And  if  any  man  had  called  you  so,  Mat,  he'd  have  spo" --n 
nothing  but  the  truth.  Oh,  Mat,  Mat,  can  it  be  possible  that 
Jeff  Rhodes  has  brought  you  to  this  already  1" 

"  Look  you,  Nelly,  Jeff  Rhodes  ain't  my  master,  to  bring  LLO 
to  anything  I  don't  like." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  Mat ;  but  I'm  sorry  that  you  b;7iig 
yourself  to  do  wrong,  and  that  you  like  what  is  such  an  enemy 
to  your  safety.  But  I'm  sui  e  you  owe  it  all  to  your  connection 
with  Rhodes.  You  never  drank  liquor  when  you  lived  with 
Mother  Ford." 

"  Pslio  !  you're  talking  of  the  time  when  I  was  a  boy,  Nelly." 

"  When  you  were  a  good  boy,  Mat." 


134  EUTAW. 

"  Well,  it  stands  to  reason  when  a  man  grows  up,  he  kain't 
be  quite  so  good  as  when  he  was  a  boy.  What's  not  right  for 
the  boy  to  do,  a  man  kin  do  when  there's  a  needcessity  for  it." 

"  But  whore's  the  necessity  that  you  should  get  drunk,  Mat  ?" 

"Drunk?     Don't  say  it  agin,  Nelly!      [  despise  the  word" 

"  I  would  much  rather  that  you  should  despise  the  thing." 

"  I  ain't  drunk  !  I've  jest  been  keeping  my  sperrits  up,  Nelly. 
I've  been  pretty  nigli  to  a  fix.  I've  been  in  Orangeburg,  gal, 
and  —  hark  ye  —  I  seed  a  man  hanging,  gal  —  hanging  by  the 
neck,  ontil  he  was  dead,  dead,  dead !  and  God  ha'  marcy  on 
his  soul!" 

This  was  spoken  iu  a  husky  whisper  the  speaker  bending 
toward  her,  his  eyes  dilating,  and  his  whole  face  assuming  an 
expression  of  fearful  interest  in  the  event  he  described.  The 
girl  started  back  in  horror. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Mat !  you've  been  in  Orangeburg,  where 
the  red-coats  are  —  when  you  knew  what  I  warned  you  of — 
that  they  were  the  British  whom  I  saw  haling  you  to  the  gal 
lows.  And  you  saw  a  man  hung  there  !" 

"  Yes,  but  'twa'n't  me,  Nelly,  gal ;  'twas  a  young  Irishman. 
The  rope's  not  wove  yet  that's  to  make  my  cravat." 

"  A  man  hung  !  and  was  it  not  rum  that  hung  him  ?  Had  he 
not  been  drinking,  rioting,  mutineering,  murdering  —  and  was  he 
not  drunk  —  drunk  —  drunk?" 

"Why,  you're  a  witch!  How  could  you  know?"  he  ex 
claimed,  in  half-stupid  wonderment. 

"  And  it  will  be  the  rum  that  will  lead  you  to  the  gallows. 
Fool,  fool !  besotted  fool !  The  rope  is  weaving  in  your  pocket 
which  shall  hang  you.  Do  you  not  see  ?  But  a  moment  ago, 
v.l) en  I  came  suddenly  upon  you,  and  you  thought  me  an  ene 
my,  instead  of  a  weapon  you  presented  the  wretched  bottle  at 
my  head.  What  if  I  had  been  a  soldier,  an  enemy,  armed? 
U&uhl  I  not  have  cut  you  down,  or  shot  you  dead,  before  you 
could  have  discovered  your  error,  and  drawn  forth  your  pistol  ?" 

"True,  by  blazes,  Nelly  !" 

'•'  Give  me  the  bottle,  Mat." 

"  What,  the  bottle  ?  Well,  you  shall  have  it,  gal"  —  drawing 
:.t  forth  —  "  but,  first  — jest  one  more  sup  left !"  —  and  he  thrust 
the  mouth  of  the  bottle  into  his  own,  and  swallowed  the 


GLIMPSES   OP   THE   GALLOWS.  135 

ing  contents  at  a  gulp.  The  girl  caught  the  bottle  from  his 
hand,  and  hurled  it  into  the  woods.  With  a  hoarse,  muddled 
laugh,  flhe  poor  wretch  cried  out : — 

"  Oh,  you  reckon  you've  done  great  things,  Nelly,  but  there 
ain't  a  drop  left,  not  a  drop  !  None's  lost  —  none's  lost !" 

In  tones  of  genuine  anguish,  the  poor  girl  cried  to  him : — 

"  Matty,  my  dear  brother,  go  home  with  me  to  Mother  Ford's  ; 
go  with  me,  and  be  safe.  Every  step  you  take  with  Jeff  Rhodes 
is  a  step  toward  the  halter." 

"Oh, "none  of  that,  no  more,  Nelly!  That's  an  old  song. 
You  kain't  skeer  me  any  more  with  that  blear  eye.  Owls  don't 
hoot  for  much.  I  don't  believe  in  owls : — 

"  '  With  a  hoo,  hoo,  hoo ! 
But  nothing  kin  they  do ! — 
It's  better  to  hear  the  old  crows  eaw, 
For  you  know  that  they're  thinking  to  fill  their  craw ; 
And  the  crow-song  for  me  —  with  a  caw,  caw,  caw  !' 

"  And  that  reminds  me,  Nelly,  of  the  swamp  —  old  Cawcaw ! 
'Twas  called  so,  I  reckon,  bekaise  the  crows  had  some  famous 
big  settlement  thar !  Well,  where's  Lem  Watkins,  and  them 
Flurrida  riffigees  1  I  hear  they're  a-scouting  about  the  Ed?.ti-. 
yet  —  somewhere  below.  I'm  doing  a  better  business 
Nelly  —  gitting  the  real  gould  guineas  by  the  handful,  Nelly 
by  the  handful !" 

"  Ay,  by  highway  robbery  !" 

"  What !  who  says  that  ?" 

"  I  say  it." 

"  Look  you,  Nelly,  don't  go  too  fur,  or  I'll  be  apt  to  hit 
n  clip.  Don't  provocate  me.  I'm  no  highway  robber,  I'll  let 
you  know,  but  a  preferable  loyalist  of  his  majesty's  loyal  ran 
gers.  I'm  a  sergeant  —  hiccough  !" 

"  Mat,  you've  helped  to  rob  and  to  abduct  two  ladies,  travel 
ling  in  a  private  carriage  along  the  Oawcaw.     Don't  deny  rv. 
Mat.     Don't  lie  to  your  sister  !" 

Half  fuddled  as  he  was,  the  fellow  looked  aghast. 

"  How  the  L — 1  could  you  hear  of  that  ?  It's  the  devil  -  *,hj 
old  devil  himself — that  tells  you  every  tiling-,  Nelly  !" 

'•'It  is  true,  then  —  true,  true,  trun !     And  you,  Mat  Floyd. 


136  fiUTAW. 

have  suffered  this  wretched  old  villain  Rhodes  to  lead  you  to 
highway  robbery !  Oh,  my  brother,  don't  you  see  that,  with 
out  even  a  military  sanction  —  without  a  captain's  commission 
even  —  you  have  done  an  act  which  only  needs  to  be  proven, 
to  insure  you  the  very  doom  of  the  halter,  which  is  the  one  dan 
ger,  above  all,  of  which  I  have  told  you  ?" 

"  And  who  seed,  and  who's  to  prove  it,  I  wants  to  know  ?" 

"God  saw  —  God  will  prove  it." 

"  Oh,  git  out,  Nelly  !  Don't  you  'member  telling  Jef£  Rhodes 
the  same  thing  about  God  seeing,  and  God  proving  ?  And  what 
did  old  Jeff  say  1  Why,  he  said,  '  I  reckon  they  wouldn't  take 
his  evidence  in  any  court  in  the  country.'  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  Bible 
law  and  God's  evidence  kaiu't  stand  in  any  Christian  court  in 
this  country." 

"  Silence,  blasphemer !  Oh,  blind  fool  that  you  are,  why  will 
you  listen  to  Jeff  Rhodes  and  his  blasphemies  ?" 

"I  tell  you,  Jeff's  a  lawyer  by  nater.  He's  a  nateral  law 
yer.  Why,  lying  comes  to  him  like  a  gift !  He  kin  lie  through 
a  millstone  any  day.  Ha !  ef  Jeff  had  lawyer  edication,  he'd 
be  h — 1  on  a  trial." 

''He's  your  hell,  Mat  Floyd — he's  devil  enough  to  lead  you 
U  destruction!  Once  more,  my  brother,  hear  to  me,  before 
O^at  vile  wretch  hurries  you  to  the  halter." 

"  D — n  the  halter  !  Who's  afeard  of  the  halter  ?  You  talks, 
Nelly,  as  ef  1  was  a  born  and  blasted  coward.  D — n  the  halter. 
I  ain't  afeard  !  No  siffocation  for  me.  That's  for  the  halter," 
and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  her  face. 

'Mat,  my  brother,  leave  this  villain  Rhodes.  He'll  be  your 
rum.  If  you  breek  off  from  him  no\v,  and  go  home  with  me, 
and  keep  quiet  awhile,  all  will  go  right.  But  if  you  do  not, 
then  God  only  knows  what  will  be  your  doom.  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  in  danger.  Marion's  men  are  now  in  search  after  those 
t\vo  poor  ladies  whom  you  and  Jeff  Rhodes  have  carried  off, 
Deliver  up  those  ladies,  show  me  where  you  have  carried  them 
and  I  will  get  you  into  the  army  of  General  Marion." 

"  You  !  what  do  you  know  about  the  army  of  Marion  1  Psho, 
gal  !  You  don't  know  what  you're  a-talking  about.  Git  out. 
You're  a  woman,  and  kaiu't  onderstand  the  business  aft  \:*«  of 
men  raid  sodgers.  Git  out.  Go  about  your  business.  6-  '  *% 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   GALLOWS.  187 

to  Mother  Ford,  and  —  here  —  here's  a  gould  guinea  for  you, 
When  you  get  out  of  that,  let  me  know,  and  I'll  give  you  more. 
There  now  !  Good-by,  Nelly — you're  a  good  gal,  but  mighty 
foolish." 

And  fancying  that  he  gave  it  to  her,  he  thrust  the  guinea 
back  into  his  pouch 

"  Mat,  dear  Mat,  won't  you  let  those  ladies  go  free  ?  Tell 
me  where  they  are." 

He  put  his  finger  to  his  eye,  with  maudlin  cunning — as  he 
said:  — 

"  You're  mighty  smart,  Nelly,  but  don't  know  nothing,  no 
how.  Go  long,  gal,  home  to  old  Mother  Ford.  Give  her  the 
guinea,  and  tell'  her  to  buy  herself  a  coat  and  new  breeches.  I 
reckon  she  wants  'em.  Good-by,  gal  —  God  bless  you — and 
be  off." 

"Mat,  my  brother  —  " 

"  'Nough  now,  Nelly." 

"  Oh  !  Mat,  let  me  save  you  from  this  danger,  this  doom,  this 
terrible  and  shameful  death.  Oh  !  my  brother,  it  is  for  ever  be 
fore  my  sight  —  day  and  night  —  sleeping  and  waking,  I  behold 
the  horrid  vision  —  I  see  you  in  bonds,  your  arms  corded  be 
hind  you,  and  haled  up  to  the  shameful  gallows " 

The  drunken  wretch  seized  her  suddenly  by  the  throat :— - 

"  Look  you,  you  crazy  fool,  ef  ever  you  bother  me  agin  aboau 
that  gallows,  I'll  choke  the  soul  out  of  you.  You'll  never  ea 
much  as  squeak  agin." 

She  shook  him  off — regarded  him  \vi*h  a  long  mournf.l 
glance,  and  drew  up  her  bridle.  Her  eyes  were  riveted,  largo, 
indignant,  yet  very  sorrowful,  upon  the  besotted  fool,  aa  h^r 
horse  receded  from  the  side  of  his.  The  half-witted  wretch 
seemed  a  little  ashamed,  and  cried : — 

"I  wouldn't  hurt  you,  Nelly,  you  knows;  but  you  musn'l 
piovocate  m^,  and  no  more,  do  you  hear,  about  that  bloody  gal 
lows.  Not  a  word.  Good-by,  gal,  good-by,  and  git  yorr 
senses  back  as  soon  as  you  kin." 

And  he  rode  off.  Did  she?-  — No.  Griving  him  a  fair  start, 
she  rode  after  him,  cautiously  feeling  her  way  along  the  track 
of  his  horse— -using  her  experiences  in  scouting  —  which  were 
not  inconsiderable  —  and  resolved,  through  him,  to  discovei 


138  EUTAW. 

where  Jeff  Rhodes  had  concealed  his  captives.  Of  course,  Mat 
Floyd  was  quite  too  drunk  to  conceive  the  purpose  in  his  sister's 
mind.  He  was  tickled  with  the  idea,  at  leaving  her,  that  he 
had  asserted  his  manly  independence,  and  had  given  her  a  new 
idea  as  to  the  importance  of  those  duties  which  usually  occupied 
the  exclusive  attention  of  the  masculine  gender,  and  with  which 
women  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  do. 

"Women,"  quoth  he,  with  a  sort  of  maudlin  scorn,  "what 
does  they  know  about  men's  affairs  ?  Kin  they  scout  and  fight, 
and  make  prisoners,  and  git  the  gould  guineas  for  'em.  And 
now,  jest  when  I'm  in  a  sort  of  run  of  luck,  for  me  to  give  up, 
and  stop  because  I've  got  a  crazy  fool  of  a  sister.  The  gal's  a 
good  loving  gal  enough,  but  she's  too  much  given  to  meddling." 


THE   SPY    IN   PERIL. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    SPY    IN    PERIL. 

AND  the  poor  fool,  soliloquizing  thus,  his  head  turned  witb 
Jamaica  and  that  "  run  of  luck,"  rode  on  exultingly,  never 
once  seeing  or  dreaming  that  the  fates  were  even  then  busy 
upon  that  "  run  of  rope"  the  terrors  of  which  his  poor  sister  had 
been  striving  to  keep  before  his  eyes. 

She  timed  his  paces,  and  followed  his  steps.  He  reached  in 
safety  the  den  where  old  Rhodes  had  cornered  himself,  and 
quietly  threw  himself  down  for  sleep  in  one  of  the  wigwams. 
His  potations  had  rendered  this  proceeding  necessary.  Old 
Rhodes  and  one  of  his  gang  were  absent.  They  too  were  scout 
ing,  possibly  in  search  of  Travis  also  — -  certainly,  in  the  pursuit 
of  some  outlawry.  They  did  not  return  till  after  night,  when 
they  found  Mat  Floyd  in  a  condition  of  stupor,  the  result  of  the 
mixed  influences  of  drink  and  a  too  long- slumber,  but  awake. 
Rhodes  was  in  a  tolerable  good  humor,  though  disappointed  at 
Mat's  failure.  The  latter  made  a  full  report  of  all  that  he  had 
discovered  or  failed  to  discover,  while  in  and  about  Orange- 
burg  ;  but  said  nothing,  however,  of  his  adventures  after  leaving 
it;  of  his  sister  and  the  Jamaica  he  mentioned  not  a  syllable. 
Rhodes,  however,  suspected  the  latter,  and  charged  it  home 
upon  the  offender,  not  exactly  as  an  offence  against  good  morals 
but  as  disparaging  his  chances  of  success. 

*'•  You've  been  drinking,  Mat,  and  that's  the  reason  you  ha'n't 
me  do  out  better.  I  reckon  you  were  too  boozy  to  see  Cappin 
Tvavis  ef  he -was  a-standing  right  afore  you.  I  reckon  he  was 
u'.i  about  among  the  offsers  in  the  villag3." 

"  I  worn't  so  drunk  but  I  could  see  the  gallows  1" 


1 40  EUTAW. 

"  Ob  !  that  gallows  !  You  ha'n't  been  hafe  a  man,  ever  senci 
tbat  fool  sister  of  your'n  had  ber  wision." 

"  Look  you,  Jeff  Rhodes,  talk  of  the  gal  decently  ef  you 
wouldn't  see  fire  flash  from  your  eyes  and  claret  too." 

"  Boys,  git  out  the  kairds,  or  we'll  hev  a  foolish  quarrel  to 
patch  up.  That's  the  worst  fault  I  find  with  whiskey  and 
Jamaica.  They're  mighty  fine  drinks ;  but  they  makes  the 
best  friends  fall  out.  Git  out  the  kairds,  fellows,  I  reckon  I've 
got  some  money  that  I  kin  lose  to  any  boy  that's  bold  enough 
to  front  the  pictures." 

"  I'm  your  man  for  that,"  cried  Mat  eagerly.  "  But  no  more 
Orangeburg  for  me.  As  you  ain't  afeard  of  the  wision  of  a  gal 
lows,  Jeff  Rhodes,  you  kin  go  for  yourself  next  time." 

"  And  so  I  will,  Mat ;  but  ef  I  do  'twon't  be  for  you  then  to 
be  axing  after  a  share  of  the  plunder.  Ef  the  hands  won't  do 
lawful  duty,  they  kain't  expect  lawful  hire." 

"  We'll  see  to  that,  Jeff.  In  captivating  these  ladies  we  was 
all  consarned,  and  I  reckon  I  had  the  most  risk  in  doing  it. 
For  that  matter  I  hev  the  most  risky  business  put  upon  me 
always,  and  I'm  not  guine  to  stand  it ;  so,  look  to  it  next  time 
I  jest  give  you  notice  in  good  season.  Who's  for  play  ?" 

The  party  seated  themselves  about  an  old  table  in  that  dark 
hovel,  not  one  of  them  withholding  himself  from  a  game  at  which 
the  common  people  of  the  South  were  great  proficients  seventy 
years  ago  — "  old  sledge."  Money  was  produced  in  moderate 
sums,  and  all  the  party  was  soon  deeply  interested.  Jeff  Rhodes 
was  one  of  those  rare  magicians  who  work  wonders  at  the  gaming 
table.  He  soon  began  to  assess  his  neighbors.  As  they  began  to 
grumble,  he  put  in  exercise  one  of  his  arts  of  soothing,  by  pro 
ducing  an  unexpected  bottle  of  whiskey.  They  all  drank  deep 
ly,  and  the  play  went  on ;  and  with  the  drink  and  play,  Mat 
"Floyd,  with  others,  soon  began  to  grow  garrulous.  He  talked 
over  the  matter  of  his  fright  in  Orangeburg,  and  the  awful  feel 
ings  which  he  suffered  at  so  suddenly  confronting  the  gallows 
upon  which  hung  another. 

"  Lerd,"  said  he,  "  I  felt  as  ef  I  was  the  man  that  was  hitched 
up,  and  'tworn't  ontil  I  was  safe  buried  in  the  swamp,  that  I 
could  git  easy  about  that  wision  of  poor  Nelly  ;  and  when,  sud- 
dently,  she  come  a-riding  out  of  the  woods  upon  me  this  morn- 


THE   SPY   IN    PERIL.  -4 

ii)g,  I  thought  it  was  a  whole  troop  of  the  red-coats  in  chase 
And  she  know'd  all  about  the  mutinecring  and  hanging  in  i,i- 
angeburg — same  as  ef  she'd  seen  it;  and  she  tells  me  she  ses1. 
tliat  same  wision  about  my  hanging  more  than  once  senca." 

"  What !   you  seed  .Harricane  Nell  this  morning,  Mat,  ai. 
never  said  a  word  about  it  1"  demanded  Rhodes. 

"  Yes,  I  never  thought  about  it  till  now." 

"  And  whar  did  you  meet  her  ?" 

"  By  Pyeatt's  bay,  tharabouts." 

"Why,  that  ain't  five  miles  off  from  hyar !  Well,  wh&i'  :": 
you  leave  her  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  cut  off  her  discourse  mighty  soon,  an«?  'oil  hex  to  ( 
off,  and  not  meddle  with  men's  consarns;  and  "  Jicok  Laz  *> 
little,  for  the  .Jamaica  was  pretty  strong  in  me,  ^  '  I  driv  Ih. 
poor  gal  off  with  a  flea  in  her  ear." 

"  And  whar  did  she  go  ?" 

"  Lord  knows  ! — into  the  thick  somewliar." 

"  Lord,  Lord  !  Mat  Floyd,  you're  as  great  a  fool  as  7  cur  sis 
ter.     Why  didn't  you  look  after  her,  and  give  her  a  \vi-.ig  trail  * 
She'll  be  on  our  track,  by  blazes,  and  will  find  out  all  ahci: 
our  prisoners.     She'll  never  rest  tell  she  does,  and  you  k.i:">? 
it!"      • 

"  Well,  I  never  thought  of  that !" 

"  'Twas  the  Jamaica.  Lord,  Lord,  why  will  you  boys  be 
drinking  when  you're  on  an  ixpedition  ?  Why  kain't  you  put 
it  off  tell  we  all  git  safe  together,  as  we  air  now,  after  the  day> 
work's  done  ?" 

"  But  Nelly  don't  know  nothing  about  the  place.  She  never 
was  hyar." 

"  Yes,  she  was,  years  ago,"  interposed  the  keeper  of  the  den , 
"she  stopped  here  once  with  old  lyljther  Ford,  when  she  coint, 
up  from  the  Collinton  country." 

"  The  devil  she  did  i  7?hex:.  she*!'  be  sure  to  track  us  out ; 
and  ef  she  does,  she'll  b.  j^s;  as  sure  to  bring  down  some  of  the 
dragoons,  red  or  blue,  don't  matter  to  her,  and  warm  us  up  hyar 
at  midnight  with  sich  a  blaze  as  will  make  every  skin  crackle 
And,  ef  she  tiidn't  know  the  place  before,  won't  she  take  Mat's 
track,  I  wonder  ]  Nelly  is  as  good  a  scout  as  any  in  the  Brit 
ish  army,  and  she's  got  a  heart  as  bold  as  any  dragoon  in  both 


EUTAW. 

armies.     She'll  be  doing,  I  tell  you,  while  we're  a-drinking  and 
a  seeping.     She's  a  most  fearsome  cretur." 

Old  Rhodes  was  indignant — Mat  Floyd  rather  chopfalleu 
The  party  played  on,  however  —  the  old  man  sullen,  moody, 
'  hoiightful,  but  never  forgetful  of  his  games.  Suddenly,  after 

4  ing  up  the  spoils  before  him,  old  Rhodes  said : — 

'jBeys,  you  kin  play  on,  but  I'll  take  a  peep  at  the  stairs. 

I've  hearn  that  dog  barking  now  a  good  bit,  and  it's  jest  as  well 

V°!  a  look  around  to  see  that  all's  right.     But  you  kin  play 

a,     Ef  I  wants  you,  I'll  blow  the  horn." 

Tb.o  door  .vas  closed  —  well  fastened.  There  were  no  win 
'-cvs  in  the  hovel.  In  going  out,  Jeff  Rhodes  did  not  disturb 
,T  e  friteningfe  of  the  door.  Stooping  down,  he  lifted  a  trap 
;•  -.131'  the  table  upon  which  the  group  continued  to  play,  and 
*jt  himself  through  it  upon  the  ground,  some  four  feet  below. 
Ii>-  had  caught  up,  unseen  by  most  of  the  party,  his  pistols  and 
^  inter-knife  —  the  latter  a  most  formidable  weapon,  only  infe- 
v'0r  in  sise  and  weight  to  the  modern  "  California  toothpick. ¥ 
Us  crawled  out  quietly  from  beneath  the  house,  and  was  soon 
o?dden  among  the  bushes  that  grew  thickly  all  about  it.  His 
>'oul  was  full  of  murderous  intentions. 

it's  her,"  he  muttered,  "  I'll  cut  her  throat  for  her  if 
J:ife_'s  .-ufe  a  chaince.  She's  spiled  our  sports  more  than  once, 
and  pha  n't  spile  'em  agin  ef  I  kin  help  it."  And,  so  speaking, 
he  crept  away. 

The  barking  of  the  dog  guided  his  footsteps.  The  animal 
,vas  baying,  a  few  hundred  yards  above  the  settlement,  on  the 
sdge  of  a  boggy  thicket.  To  this  old  Rhodes  made  his  ap 
proaches,  with  infinite  caution.  As  he  neared  the  dog,  he  gave  a 
eliirht  chirrup,  which  the  animal  seemed  to  recognise,  for  he  ran 
to  the  spot  where  Rhodes  was  in  cover,  rubbed  his  nose  against 
him,  then  darted  off  and  renewed  his  baying  more  urgently 
than  ever.  Rhodes  crept  up,  and  at  length  discovered  the  ob 
ject  of  the  dog's  clamors.  This  was  a  horse,  with  saddle  and 
bridle  —  not  fastened,  but  quietly  engaged  in  browsing  ab  '.t 
among  the  long  grasses  of  the  miry  slope.  It  required  but  a 
single  glance  to  satisfy  Rhodes  that  the  beast  was  that  of  Nelly 
Floyd  —  her  favorite  pony  Aggy. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  outlaw  was,  to  cut  the  poor  beast's 


THE  SPY  IN  PERIL.  143 

throat.  He  had  nearly  done  it  —  the  knife  actually  being  made 
to  flourish  in  the  eyes  of  the  unconscious  Aggy.  Nothing  but 
a  Guggestion  of  cupidity  saved  the  animal's  life. 

'  It'll  sarve  a  more  sensible  rider,"  quoth  Rhodes,  "  ir  we  kia 
only  git  rid  of  her." 

Thus  coolly  did  the  old  scoundrel  calculate  the  profitc  of 
tin  cat-cutting. 

"And  whar's  she?  In  and  about  them  cabins,  I  reckon  — 
poking  everywhere  —  feeling  and  finding  out  what  she  kin. 
That  dog's  been  a-barking  a  good  hafe  hour.  She's  been  all 
the  time  in  our  'campment.  It'll  worry  her,  I  reckon,  to  find 
out  anything ;  but  I'll  do  what  I  kin  to  find  Tier.  Only,  I  must 
quiet  the  dog,  or  keep  him  hyar." 

He  called  the  dog  to  him  in  low  accents,  put  his  cap  down 
under  a  bush,  pointed  the  animal  to  it,  and  saw  with  satisfac 
tion  that  he  laid  himself  down  with  nose  upon  it,  understanding 
an  old  lesson  readily. 

"  All  right,  so  fur.  And  now,  Miss  Harricane  Nelly,  we'll 
see  and  settle  your  accounts  by  short  reckoning,  ef  the  devil 
ain't  more  on  your  side  of  the  house  than  on  ours." 

And,  with  this  resolve,  "  fetching  a  compass,"  he  proceeded 
to  scout  after  the  spy.  We  need  not  say  that,  being  experi 
enced  at  the  business,  knowing  the  ground  thoroughly,  he  was 
able  to  do  this  understandingly,  and  with  the  sly,  stealthy  move 
ment  of  a  wild-cat  on  his  way  to  the  hen-roost. 

Meanwhile,  what  of  our  poor  captives  in  their  dark  and  mis 
ei  able  dungeon,  held  only  by  fastenings  which  a  stout  trooper 
could  burst  with  a  single  blow  of  the  heel,  not  more  than  a  mile 
or  two  from  a  highway,  with  powerful  friends  seeking  them 
and  resolute  hearts  ready  to  peril  life  for  their  rescue? 

"Oh,  this  is  too  horrible,  mother!"  was  the  moaning  excla 
mation  of  Bertha  Travis,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  bedside  in 
one  corner  of  their  hovel.  They  knew  it  was  night,  for  supper 
was  some  time  over,  but  they  were  allowed  no  lights.  Saving 
one  another  and  the  servant-girl,  they  saw  nobody  but  the  uu- 
couth  woman  who  brought  them  food.  Days  had  passed  in  this 
captivity,  and  not  a  ray  of  hope,  not  a  voice  of  encouragement, 
had  entered  their  cell.  The  mother  tried  her  best  to  soothe 


144  EUTAW 

and  inspirit  the  daughter.  The  latter  was  in  despair,  and  threw 
herself  down,  sobbing,  upon  the  bed. 

At  that  moment,  they  heard  a  distinct  rapping  beneath  che 
Louse.  They  started  up  and  listened, 

"  Surely  that  was  a  rapping,  mother." 

"Yes,"  said  the  other  in  a  whisper;  "I  v/afl  listening  in  ex 
pectation  to  hear  it  again." 

It  was  repeated,  slowly,  as  distinctly  as  before  —  three  sev 
eral  raps.  Bertha  leaped  from  the  bed  upon  the  floor,  and, 
tooping,  spoke  in  articulate  and  regular  tones,  r.ot  loud  but 
clear  and  sharp  : — 

"  Does  some  one  knock  below  ?" 

The  quick  answer  thrilled  them  with  a  sudden  joy : — 

"  Yes  !  Are  you  women  1  —  are  you  in  trouble  V  The  voice 
was  that  of  a  woman. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  answered  Bertha,  "  we  are  women,  and  we  are 
kept  here  in  unlawful  captivity.  Who  are  you?  Can  you 
help  us  ?" 

"  I  am  a  woman  like  yourselves,"  was  the  answer,  clearly  but 
somewhat  mournfully  expressed,  "  but  I  would  serve  you  as  far 
as  a  woman  can." 

"  What  can  you  do  toward  getting  us  out  of  this  wretched 
place?  Oh,  we  shall  thank  and  bless  you  for  ever !" 

"  I  know  not  exactly  what  to  do  yet,  but  God  will  teach  me, 
and  I  will  think.  I  have  no  friends  near,  your  door  is  fast,  and 
the  place  is  kept  by  a  small  body  of  people — " 

She  was  about  to  say  outlaws,  but  she  remembered  that  ]\^at 
Floyd  was  one  of  the  party. 

"  What  do  they  keep  us  for  ?"  demanded  Bertha. 

"  To  extort  money  for  your  ransom,  from  your  friends.  Can 
you  give  me  any  clues  to  them,  so  that  I  may  find  them,  and 
let  them  know  where  you  are,  when,  if  they  have  the  strength 
and  courage,  they  will  be  able  easily  to  rescue  you?" 

"  Do  you  know  Major  Willie  Sinclair  ?"  demanded  Bertha, 
eagerly. 

"Or  Captain  St.  Julien,  or  Captain  Travis,  of  Holly-Dale?" 
added  the  mother,  her  thoughts  misgiving  her  as  she  uttered  the 
name  of  her  husband. 

"I  have  seen  Major  Sim-Inn-  ,'iml  f~';ij»t;un  St.  Julien.     They 


THE  SPY   IN   PERIL.  145 

were  looking  for  you,  above,  some  days  ago,  but  tlien  I  did  not 
know  that  yon  were  hero.  Now,  it  is  impossible  to  say  where 
they  are,  as  the  whole  American  army  has  moved  up  the  Con- 
garee.  There  are  none  now  about  but  the  British  and  the  loyal 
ists.  The  people  who  keep  you  profess  to  be  loyalists.  They 
used  to  belong  to  the  Florida  refugees — " 

"  Oh,  mother,  those  vile  outlaws  ! — " 

"As  for  Captain  Travis,  there's  no  telling  where  he  is.  His 
place  at  Holly-Dale  has  been  burned  down  by  the  tories,  and 
everything  carried  off." 

"  Ah,  mother  !     Holly -Dale,  our  dear  home,  in  ashes !" 

The  voice  from  below  continued. 

"  Can  you  mention  any  other  persons  who  would  be  likely  to 
serve  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Travis  was  reluctant  to  refer  to  British  succor.  She. 
remembered,  with  a  tender  conscience,  the  equivocal  relations  of 
her  husband  with  the  British,  and  feared  to  say  or  do  anything 
which  might  compromise  him  —  feared,  especially,  to  put  herself 
and  daughter  into  the  hands  of  those,  who,  at  Inglehardt's 
instigation,  would  be  very  apt  to  keep  them  as  hostages  for  the 
reappearance  of  Captain  Travis.  There  was,  accordingly,  a 
pause,  A  whispered  conversation  took  place  between  the 
mother  and  daughter. 

"  Better,  my  child,  that  we  should  remain  here,  in  confine 
ment,  darkness,,  discomfort,  than  peril  everything  in  a  rash 
appeal  for  help  to  the  British." 

Poor  Bertha  moaned,  but  said : — 

"  You  are  right,  mother.  Let  us  perish  rather  than  pat  my 
father  into  their  ruthless  hands.  We  will  wait  on  providence, 
and  bear  up,  as  God  appoints." 

The  mother  kissed  her  child,  while  the  big  tears  fell  upon  her 
cheek.  The  daughter  resumed  the  dialogue  with  the  stranger. 

"  We  are  at  a  loss  to  mention  any  other  persons  who  would 
be  likely  to  help  us.  Major  Sinclair,  Captain  St.  Julien,  or  any 
of  the  officers  of  Marion's  brigade,  if  you  could  meet  with  them, 
would  do  so;  but  —  can  you  suggest  nothing." 

"II  I  am  a  woman,  as  I  told  .you,  with  nothing  but  the  will 
to  serve  you.  I  have  few  friends  and  no  money ;  but  I  am 
young  and  active,  have  a  horse,  know  the  woods,  and  have  few 


146  EUTAW. 

{ears  to  trouble  me.  I  will  think  and  pray  for  you,  and  work 
in  your  behalf,  as  God  shall  teach  me  to-night.  Only  be  of 
good  cheer,  ana  do  not  suppose  God  forgets  you,  because  he 
requires  you  should  wait  his  time  and  will." 

"  How  well  that  was  said,  mother,"  whispered  Bertha.  Then 
aloud : — 

"  Oh  !  we  shall  thank  and  bless  you  for  ever,  whoever  you 
are,  even  though  you  should  fail  to  succor  us.  Your  words  are 
full  of  encouragement,  and — " 

A  scream  from  below  silenced  the  speaker  above.  Jeff 
Rhodes  had  grappled  with  the  kneeling  girl,  and  now  dragged 
her  from  under  the  house.  He  had  completely  surprised  her  — 
had  crawled  in  behind  her  where  she  had  been  kneeling,  for  the 
house  was  too  low  to  suffer  her  to  stand,  and  nad  grappled  and 
drawn  her  backward,  drawn  her  out  into  the  open  air,  before 
she  could  scream  thrice.  But  scream  she  did,  wildly,  fiercely, 
and  with  noble  lungs.  He  sought  to  stifle  her  screams  with  the 
skirt  of  his  hunting-shirt ;  but  she  struggled  vigorously  and 
had  almost  broken  away  from  him  when  he  knocked  her  down 
and  put  his  knee  upon  her.  The  knife  flashed  before  her  and 
involuntarily  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Even  in  that  moment,  with  a  prayer  rising  in  her  soul,  unut- 
tered  by  her  lips,  she  was  saved.  Rhodes  was  torn  from  her 
by  the  vigorous  arm  of  her  brother,  who  now  confronted  the 
ruffian  with  a  weapon  like  his  own. 

"  You  old  villain,  did  you  mean  to  murder  Nelly  ?" 

"  Murder  her !  Oh,  no !  I  only  meant  to  give  her  sich  a 
skear  as  would  keep  her  off  from  spying  about  our  'camp- 
incnt." 

"  It  looked  mighty  like  it,  Jeff  Rhodes." 

"  Psho  !  'twas  make  b'lieve,  Mat." 

11  It  was  sich  make  b'lieve  that  I  came  pretty  nigh  giving  yoo 
the  knife  afore  I  laid  hands  on  you.  Nelly,  air  you  hurt  ?" 

"Hurt!"  said  the  girl,  who  had  already  risen  to  her  feet 
'  No  !•' 

"  Wol),  you'd  better  stop  with  us  to-night." 

"  What !  to  have  another  scare  /"  said  the  girl  bcornfully. 

"  No !  he  sha'n't  skear  nor  hurt  you  while  Mat  Floyd  kin 
lift  a  we'pon.  But  where  will  you  go  to-night  ?" 


THE   SPY   IN    PERIL.  14 1 

11  Where  God  and  the  good  angels  please ;  I  have  many  homes." 

"  She's  in  one  of  her  tantrums,  when  she  sees  sperrits,"  cried 
Nat  Rhodes,  with  a  laugh.  The  girl  eyed  him  for  a  moment, 
and  said  : — 

''Ay,  and  you,  too,  are  among  the  doomed.  Your  race  will 
BOOH  be  run,  but  neither  by  rope  nor  bullet." 

"  Oh  !  if  you're  for  a  prophesying  I'm  off,"  and  the  fellow 
retreated.  The  whole  party  had  left  the  gaming-table  a  little 
before,  simply  as  the  money  of  two  of  them  had  given  out  —  a 
portion  having  first  found  its  way  into  the  pocket  of  old  Jeffrey, 
while  the  good  fortune  of  Mat  Floyd  had  enabled  him  to  gather 
up  the  rest,  But  for  this  lucky  result  of  the  cards,  Mat  had 
never  conceived  the  policy  of  "  Looking  after  old  Jeff,"  in  order 
to  resume  the  contest  with  the  largest  banker  of  the  party. 
We  have  seen  how  opportunely  he  found  him. 

Old  Rhodes  lingered  uneasily,  while  Mat  and  his  sister  spoke 
together. 

"  Don't  press  her  to  stay,  Mat.  We  ha'n't  got  any  place  for 
her,  and  she's  no  business  here  at  all.  Make  her  promise  to  say 
nothing  to  nobody  of  what  she  knows." 

"  I  promise  nothing,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  owe  you  no  pledges 
—  no  faith.  I  demand  that  you  give  up  these  unhappy  ladies 
whom  you've  got  confined.  Yield  them  up  to  me,  or  I  will 
seek  for  those  who  will  make  you  do  so,  even  if  I  have  to  go 
to  the  British  garrison  for  it." 

"  You  see,  Mat,"  said  old  Rhodes. 

"  Look  you,  Nelly,"  said  the  brother,  "  this  won't  do.  YGL. 
mustn't  come  here  to  spile  your  own  brother's  business." 

"  His  business  is  sin,  and  its  wages  death  !  Oh,  my  brothei  I 
why  will  you  rush  thus  desperately  upon  shame  and  danger  1 
Why  continue  with  this  murderous  wretch,  who,  only  a  moment 
ago,  had  his  knife  at  my  throat  V 

"  Only  to  skear  you  !    I  swear,  Nelly — " 

"Oh!  hush,  man  —  monster,  would  you  put  another  perjury 
upon  your  soul.  Leave  him,  Mat.  He  is  conducting  you  to  tha 
halter." 

"Oh!    d — L    the    halter!      No    more    of   that,   Nelly-    y 
kain't  skevr  me,  gal.     Not  when  I'm  doing  a  goulden  busjudsa 
But  come  Lo  the  house.      I'll  llnd  you  u  good  sleeping-place.  ' 


148  EUTAW. 

"  Better  shut  her  up  with  the  others,"  growled  old  Rhodes 
At  the  suggestion,  the  girl  receded  a  few  paces,  as  if  to  get  out 
of  reach,  in  the  event  of  any  sudden  attempt  being  made  upon 
her  liberty. 

"  No  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  dare  not.  The  lightnings  of  heaven 
will  fall  upon  the  place  where  that  old  man  harbors.  God ! 
how  wonderful  is  this  madness.  An  old  man,  near  seventy 
with  the  grave  open  at  his  feet  —  a  bloody  grave'  —  and  he  lies 
and  laughs,  and  would  drink  blood  if  he  could." 

"Drink  blood!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  only  think  of  that,  Mat! 
Drink  blood  !  Not  when  whiskey's  to  be  had,  or  ruin,  gal.  But 
she's  in  her  mad  fit,  Mat  —  don't  mind  her  —  let  her  go  if  she 
will.  I'm  for  the  kairds  agin." 

And  the  old  ruffian  turned  away,  but  loitered  still. 

"  Hither  to  me,  Mat !  Only  a  moment,"  said  Nelly  ;  and  she 
drew  the  wretched  youth  some  twenty  paces  apart,  and  said  to 
him,  in  low  tones : — 

"  Give  me  your  knife,  Mat." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  it." 

"  A  weapon  of  defence.  But  for  you,  to-night,  that  old  man 
would  have  butchered  me." 

"  Oh  !  never  !  He  only  meant  to  give  you  a  bad  skear,  and 
you  know,  Nelly,  'twas  not  the  right  thing  for  you  to  come  here, 
a-spying  out  our  secrets." 

"  Give  me  the  knife,  Mat ;  it  may  save  me  when  you  are  not 
i,  3ar  to  do  so.  Let  him  not  see  you  give  it.  Here,  slip  it  into 
my  hand." 

He  did  so,  but  hesitatingly. 

';  Now,  hear  me,  Mat.  You  told  Jeff  Rhodes  of  your  meet 
ing  with  me  to-day  —  he  guessed  that  I  would  follow  your 
tracks.  He  got  you  drinking  at  the  card-table;  he  left  you 
there,  and  came  out  alone  to  murder  me." 

"Why,  how  the  diccance,  Nelly,  does  you  find  out  these 
things  1  It  makes  me  afeard  of  you  myself,  when  I  sees  what 
you  kin  find  out." 

"  Hear  me  further.     It  is  his  purpose  to  get  you  back  to  the 
gaming-table,  to  leave  you  there  again,  and  to  take  the  woods 
upon  me.     I  know  it.     I  see  it." 
'Ef  I  thought  it." 


THE  SPY   IN   PERIL.  149 

•Needn't  think  it.     Know  it  y o  :.rself.     Go  with  him  to  thfl 

uaii;Ii!g-tabie  —  play,  if  you  will  —  but  drink  nothing.     Let  him 

inspect  nothing.     Only  watch  him.     If  he  leaves  you  at  the 

table,  you  may  know  what  he's  after.     Follow  him.     Ho  kii&'ws 

hat  I  will  have  to  sleep  in  the  woods.     His  purpose  now  id  to 

fhid  my  sleeping-place." 

"  But  what's  the  need  to  sleep  in  the  woods.     Hyar — " 

"  Here  I  should  be  murdered.  He  will  make  you  drunk — 
get  you  off  on  some  pretext,  and  when  you  return  and  ask  for 
me,  you  will  be  told  some  wretched  story  of  my  getting  off. 
But  you  will  never  see  me  again.  Note  what  I  say.  Do  what 
1  tell  you.  Jeff  Rhodes  will  seek  to  murder  me  to-night." 

Mat  squeezed  her  hand. 

"  1 11  have  an  eye  on  him." 

"  Have  all  your  eyes  on  him  ;  for  if  you  but  wink,  he  will 
b?:nd  and  deceive  you.  Oh !  Mat,  go  with  me  now,  and  leave 
this  wretched  companionship.  Go,  for  your  life's  sake,  for  my 
sake,  for  the  sake  of  Heaven,  which  is  now  frowning  heavily 
upeJL  you !" 

"  Psho  !  Nelly,  't  don't  look  so.  See  thar,  niy  gal :  pockets 
full  ?  Hyar,  I  gin  you  a  gould  piece  to-day.  Hyar's  another." 

"  No !  you  gave  me  none,  Mat,  though  you  held  it  out  and 
siid  you  did.  You  put  it  back  into  your  purse." 

"  Did  I  ?  Fact  is,  Nelly,  I  was  a  little  overkim  with  the 
Jamaica  this  morning.  But  hyar's  two  gould  pieces  to  make 

.p.- 

"  None  will  I  have,  Mat.     I  see  the  blood  on  the  gold  !" 

"  Blood  !"  looking  at  the  coin,  in  the  starlight,  and  muttering. 

"  No  !  none  will  I  have,  and  could  I  prevail  with  you,  my 

brother,  you  would  fling  it  away  into  the  woods,  and  go  with 

me  where  we  should  never  see  the  pernicious  bait  again," 
"  That's  jest  where  I  don't  want  to  go,  Nelly." 
Her  entreaties  were,  of  course,  fruitless.     A  temporary  run 

of  luck  had  made  the  wretched  boy  fearless  even  of  the  gallows. 

She  left  him  reluctantly,  repeating  her  exhortation  to  keep  an 

eye  on  his  associates,  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  woods. 

"Well,"  c^uoth  old  Rhodes  re-approaching  —  "is  it  all  over 

between  you  at  last?     You   see  for  yourself,  the  gal's  mad, 

Matty." 


150  EUTAW. 

"  Yes,  she's  either  mad  or  mighty  sensible,  old  man.  She  does 
find  out  things  wonderful;  and  how  she  talks." 

"Like  a  hurricane.  But,  come,  we're  a-wasting  candles.  Let's 
have  another  sarment  with  seven  up  ! " 

And  they  adjourned  to  the  cabin  ;  poor  Nelly,  meanwhile, 
gliding  through  the  woods  to  her  pony,  which  she  mounted  and 
rode  away,  without  heeding  the  growls  of  Rhodes's  dog  keeping- 
watch  over  the  old  sinner's  cap. 

She  never  checked  Aggy,  until  she  had  ridden  at  least  three; 
miles  from  the  "camp"  of  our  outlaws.  Then  she  stopped,  in 
a  thick  wood  in  which  she  had  several  times  made  her  own  rus 
tic  tent,  a  few  sticks  crossed  and  covered  with  bushes  forming  a 
sufficient  shelter,  and  one  easily  made.  "The  groves  were 
God's  first  temples."  Poor  Nelly  had  no  knowledge  of  this 
beautiful  chant  of  one  of  our  best  native  poets  ;  but  she  felt 
with  him,  and  the  great  natural  temple  in  which  she  proposed 
to  trust  herself  with  God,  always  raised  her  devotional  enthu 
siasm.  Fervently  she  prayed,  the  stars  and  trees  her  witnesses, 
then  laid  herself  down  quietly  to  sleep,  with  Aggy  browsing  all 
around  her. 

But  long  ere  she  slept,  Jeff  Rhodes  had,  as  she  predicted,  left 
the  gaming-table,  Mat  in  high  play  with  Nat  and  the  rest,  to  all 
of  whom  old  Rhodes  had  lent  sums  sufficient  to  enable  them 
to  keep  employed.  The  old  fellow,  by  the  way,  was;  no  small  usurer, 
though  on  a  small  scale.  His  percentage  was  always  of  Levitical 
regulation. 

But  though  he  left  the  parties  all  at  play,  and  stole  forth,  as 
he  supposed,  unwatched  and  unsuspected,  Mat  Floyd  remembered 
and  obeyed  his  sisters  injunctions.  He  made  some  excuse  for 
leaving  the  table  also,  and  found  and  followed  the  course  of 
Rhodes,  with  a  scent  as  keen  as  that  of  a  beagle.  The  old 
man  led  his  horse  into  the  thicket,  and  had  reached  the  place 
where  Nelly's  pony  had  been  haltered,  \\hon  Mat  put  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Harkye,  old  man,  what  air  you  a'ter  here?" 

"  Ive  come  for  my  cup,"  he  said  promptly,  though  taken  by 
surprise,  and  picking  up  the  cnp  where  it  had  lain  safely,  up 
to  that  moment,  the  dog  still  keeping  watch.  "  You  see  I  left 
it  here,  Mattie,  when  the  dog  started  at  Nelly's  horse." 


THE  SPY   IN   PEB1L.  151 

"  And  you  only  come  for  the  cap  ?" 

"To  be  sure  —  only  for  the  cap." 

"  And  what  did  you  bring  your  critter  for  ?"  pointing  to  the 
horse.  Old  Rhodes's  resources  failed  him. 

"  Look  you,  Jeff  Rhodes,  that  gal  kin  see  into  your  very 
soul.  She  told  me  jist  what  you  was  a-guine  to  do  —  said 
you'd  git  me  fast  at  the  kairds,  and  thin  sneak  off  and  pat  odf 
a'ter  her." 

"  But  I  wom't  guine  to  do  no  sich  a  thing." 

"You  was,  Jeff!  Don't  lie  to  me,  man!  I  knows  it  now. 
And  now,  jist  you  hear  what  I  say,  and  remember  it.  Ef  any 
harm  comes  to  Nelly  Floyd,  by  your  hands,  or  your  contrivings. 
I'll  dig  your  heart  out  of  your  very  buzzom." 

"But,  Mattie—" 

"  Don't  talk,  Jeff  i  It's  no  use.  YJU  knows  me,  and  I  knows 
you,  and  cf  you  was  to  swear  till  all  was  blue,  I'd  not  believe 
you  a  bit  sooner." 

"  Well,"  said  the  oilier  sullenly,  "  I  reckon  we'll  be  the  loser 
by  your  sister,  of  all  the  profits  of  this  speckilation.  She  knows 
we've  got  the  prisoners,  and  where  we  keeps  'em,  and  all  h — 1 
won't  stop  her  upw  from  bringing  down  the  sodgers  up  .n  us, 
Red  or  blue,  it  knocks  us  out  of  our  gould  guineas  jest  the 
same." 

"  Yes,  if  you're  guine  to  be  sulky  about  it.  But  what's  to 
hender  us  from  moving  the  prisoners  to  another  place  ?  We've 
got  places  enough." 

"  That's  true." 

"  And  what's  to  hender  us  from  making  a  bargain  with  the 
prisoners  themselves  t  That  kind  of  ladies  always  keeps  their 
word,  and  ef  they  promises  us  the  guineas,  I  reckon  they'll  do 
the  honest  thing." 

"  Well,  that's  true.  We'll  have  a  talk  with  'em  in  the  mom- 
ing." 

"  You  do  it.     I  never  yet  could  talk  with  them  grand  folks." 

"  Well,  I'll  put  a  price  on  'em.  Ef  they  says  ^bey'll  give  a 
hundred  guineas,  we'll  deliver  'em  at  the  place  they  says,  and 
take  their  paper  for  it.  We've  got  a  smart  sum  from  'ezn 
••i'ready,  and  1  reckon  they'll  be  mighty  willing  to  pay  a  leetle 


152  EUTAW. 

more  to  get  out  into  the  open  air  agin.  A'ter  all,  Matty,  the  blue  sky 
is  a  sweeter  sight  than  pine-rafters  in  a  dark  room." 

"  Preticklarly  to  lady  folks,  I  reckon." 

"Well,  that's  the  how.     We'll  work  it  to-morrow." 

And  so  they  settled  it  for  the  morning. 

And  Kelly  Floyd  slept  the  while,  as  if  the  starlight  were  to  last 
for  ever.  Oh !  sweet  sleep  of  innocence,  that  finds  the  naked 
bosom  of  earth  soft  to  your  bosom,  and  rests  an  easy  head  on  a  rocky 
pillow ! 


A    PIIOPIIKCV    FULFILLED. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A    PROPHECY    FULFILLED 

Mv  Lord  Rawdon  slept  badly  while  iii  Orangeburg.  Fia 
iiver  was  out  of  order.  His  skin  performed  its  functions  feebly. 
The  climate  was  doing  its  worK  upon  him.  He  was  prepai'ng 
to  withdraw  from  the  labors  of  a  field,  in  which  he  had  merited 
better  fortune  than  he  had  found.  He  had  served  his  sovereign 
faithfully  and  with  ability.  Young  and  sanguine,  his  impulse 
was  regulated  by  a  rare  prudence,  and  becoming  energy.  He 
was  prompt,  ready,  decisive,  full  of  forethought,  and  a  man  of 
deliberate  calculations.  In  the  field,  he  possessed  largely  the 
military  faculty,  the  coup  d'ceil,  and  kept  his  several  divisions  ad 
mirably  in  hand  to  meet  the  emergency.  It  has  been  absurdly 
said  that  he  pretended  sickness,  in  order  to  escape  a  country  in 
which  he  could  gather  no  more  laurels,  and  escape  a  duty  in 
which  the  probability  was  that  he  should  forfeit  those  already 
won.  We  see  no  grounds  for  this  notion.  His  antecedents  do 
not  justify  it.  He  had  never  shown  any  disposition  to  shirk 
the  duty,  however  perilous  or  troublesome,  and  no  man  had 
shown  himself  better  able  to  shape  events  to  his  uses  and  turn 
contingencies  to  account.  That  he  shammed  the  invalid  seems 
to  us  preposterous,  though  we  can  very  well  conceive  tnat  he 
foresaw  the  results  of  the  war  —  saw  that  it  was  finally  approach 
ing  a  termination,  which  was  unfavorable  to  the  crown  —  and 
was  not  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the  Fates,  who  had  given  him 
a  good  plea  for  withdrawing  from  the  scene,  before  the  drama 
reached  its  catastrophe.  But  he  was  really  an  invalid.  The 
climate  had  done  its  work  upon  his  European  blood.  It  worked 
sluggishly.  His  skin  was  inactive,  his  liver  dormant,  and  he 
detested  the  blue-pill. 


)  f4  EUTAW. 

See  him  r,.s  ;\c  yjts  in  Jiis  Barters  at  Oraugeburg,  receiving 
reports.  CrTJgei  is  present,  a  clever  New  York  loyalist,  of  ex 
cellent  militaiy  talents,  firm  and  enterprising.  His  fifteer  hun 
dred  regulars,  added  to  the  force  already  in  Orangeburg,  gives 
to  th»»  British  general  about  three  thousand  men  —  a  force  which 
eould  have  easily  overwhelmed  the  skeleton  regiments  of  Greene, 
vl:o,  when  he  reached  the  high  hills  of  Santee,  had  less  than  eight 
hundred  regulars,  and  one  half  of  them  on  the  sick  list.  His 
militia  were  in  greater  number,  but  almost  naked  and  half- 
siurved.  He  retreated  seasonably.  His  whole  strength,  when 
•  e  receded  from  Orangeburg,  lay  in  his  mounted  men,  tho 
cavalry  and  rangers  of  Marion  and  Sumter,  and  the  legion  of 
Lee. 

2*it  the  British  army  was  in  almost  equally  bad  condition 
TV.s  loyalists  were  the  only  troops  that  could  really  be  relied 
upon.  The  Irish  were  a  source  of  constant  anxiety --restless, 
ready  to  desert  always,  and  sometimes,  as  in  the  case  lecently 
reported  by  Mat  Floyd,  not  slow  at  mutiny,  even  with  the  gal 
lows,  in  terrorem,  staring  them  in  the  face. 

Rawdon  listens  languidly  to  the  report  of  Otiger  His  eyes 
do  not  brighten. 

"  They  are,  then,  beyond  the  Congaree  V 

"  And  Wateree." 

"  There  is,  then,  some  respite  during  the  dog-days." 

And  he  rested  his  head  upon  his  palms,  and  looked  vacantly 
out  of  hollow,  jaundiced  eyes. 

"  You  are  looking  very  badly,  my  lord." 

"  Ah  !  do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  certainly  do.     You  need  rest" 

"  I  shall  never  have  it  in  this  cursed  country  I  must  leave 
it!" 

Cruger  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  We  can  not  spare  you,  my  lord." 

"  I  mu«t  spare  myself,  Cruger  :  I  must  retire." 

"  Do  not  think  of  that,  my  lord  !  Recruit !  Kun  down  to 
Sullivan's  island,  and  try  sea-bathing.  It  will  give  you  new 
life,  to  complete  triumphantly  your  career  in  this  quarter,  and 
recover  all  the  ground  we  have  lost  —  recover  the  country." 

Rawdon  only   smiled  languidly      .hist   the'i,  a  fine,  graceful 


A    PIIOPHECY    FULFILLED.  156 

fellow,  with  shining,  expressive  countenance,  and  great  animal 
spirits,  darted  —  we  had  almost  said  bounced  —  into  the  room, 
with  a  movement  which  scarcely  comported  with  the  gravity 
of  military  discipline  in  the  presence  of  a  superior.  Rawdon 
looked  up,  and  smiled  more  decidedly,  as  he  said : — 

"  Ah,  Lord  Edward,  your  spirits  were  worth  a  thousand 
pounds  to  me  to-day." 

"  I'faith,  my  dear  Lord  Rawdon,  I  should  cheerfully  share 
them  with  you  for  far  less  money.  A  tig  for  care  !  Why  let 
it  trouble  you  ?  I  am  come  to  ask  a  favor  —  to  let  me  cure  you, 
and  make  myself  hippy." 

"  Really,  you  propose  wonders.  Pray,  whkt  is  this  secret  of 
such  magical  twofold  operation?" 

"  A  very  simple  one.  Let  us  take  holy  day  ;  leave  drill  and 
drumming  for  a  while,  and  go  chase  butterflies.  Fly  from  camp 
and  close  quarters.  That's  all." 

"  And  where  do  you  piopose  that  we  should  go,  Fitzgerald  ?" 

"  To  Sinclair's  barony.  Don't  smile.  I'm  seriously  in  search 
of  health  for  you,  and  happiness  for  myself." 

"  Beware,  Lord  Edward  !  Have  a  care  lest,  in  my  next  let 
ters  home,  I  report  you  to  Lady  Inchiquin,  for  the  special  ben 
efit  of  her  fair  protege,  Miss  Sandford." 

"  Oh,  dear,  my  lord,  that's  an  old  story.  Besides,  'twas  noth 
ing  but  a  flirtation.  Sandford  understood  me  all  the  white. 
She's  a  clever  girl,  and  not  the  fool  to  suppose  that,  because  a 
young  fellow  says  a  fine  thing  or  two  in  her  ears,  she  is  to  re 
gard  him  as  dying  for  her  love.  There  was  nothing  in  that 
affair,  I  assure  you." 

"  Is  there  anything  more  in  this1?" 

"  Oh,  by  my  soul,  yes  !  I  can't  get  Carrie  Sinclair  out  of  my 
bead." 

•'  But,  how  about  the  heart  ?  If  she  does  not  garrison  that 
region,  I  may  suppose  you  still  safe." 

"  Nay,  she's  there  too  seriously.  She  is  too  strong  for  me 
tiiy  dear  lord." 

"  Then  I  sha'n't  go  with  you,  or  encourage  you  to  go.  I  arc. 
in  some  degree  accountable  for  you  at  home.  And  what  would 
your  excellent  mamma  say  to  a  wife  from  the  wildwoods  of  Car 
olina-  an  Amen<;,au 


156  EUTAW. 

' '  What !  Carrie  Sinclair  a  rustic  ?  Ah,  I  sec  you're  only  laughing 
at  me.  But  do  not  laugh.  I'm  serious.  It's  a  very  serious  subject. 
I  am  really  touched,  struck,  sorely  wounded,  and  can  not  for  the  life 
of  me  keep  from  thinking  of  her.  And  where's  the  objection  ?  In 
point  of  wealth,  and  beauty,  and  intelligence,  and  fine  manners,  she 
is  equal  to  most  of  the  women  I  know  at  home.  In  fact,  my  dear 
lord,  I've  calculated  the  whole  affair  —  considered  it  in  all  its  bear 
ings  —  am  now  quite  sure  of  my  own  consent,  and  hope  for 
mamma's." 

"  What  !  do  you  take  for  granted  that  of  the  young  lady  ?" 

"Fie,  my  lord  !  how  could  you  think  me  such  a  puppy?  No  — 
I  wish  that  were  possible.  Far  from  it ;  I  hold  that  to  be 
rather  doubtful.  I  have  heard  that  she  has  a  suitor,  a  friend  of 
her  brother — the  same  dashing  fellow  who  tumbled  in  headlong 
upon  us  out  of  the  swamp  here,  within  half-a-dozen  miles  of  the  vil 
lage." 

"  Ah,  you  had  a  pretty  passage  with  him  that  day  !  I  see  now  that 
I  have  not  to  credit  all  your  chivalry  on  that  occasion  to  so  frigid  a 
sentiment  as  patriotism." 

"I  confess,  my  dear  lord,  that  I  was  a  little  more  braced  to  the 
conflict  when  the  fellow  told  me  his  name.  Why  he  should  do  so, 
unless  that  he  had  heard  or  surmised  my  attentions  to  Miss  Sinclair,  I 
can  not  conceive. " 

"These  things  travel  with  the  wind.  The  tales  of  lovers  seem 
to  be  like  those  winged  seeds  that  disperse  and  plant  themselve  when 
ever  and  wherever  the  wind  blows.  But,  seriously,  my  dear  Fitz- 
gcnild,  as  you  phrase  it,  the  match  is  very  far  from  a  bad  one.  It 
will  suit  you  exactly.  The  lady  is  of  good  old  English-Scotch  family 
—  the  father  as  proud  and  fierce  as  Lucifer — and  they  may  claim 
aristocratic  connections  at  home.  Her  fortune  is  good  ;  and,  so  far 
as  person  is  concerned,  your  taste  commends  your  choice.  If  we 
are  to  be  driven  out  from  the  country,  there  is  no  mvd  why  you 
should  not  keep  foothold  in  it.  They  have  no  hostility  to  Irish 
men  as  such  ;  and,  as  an  Irish  lord,  you  will  find  grace  in  society. 
But,  my  dear  boy,  will  not  your  course  of  wooing  be  a  rather  rapid 
one  '.'  " 

"As  an  Irishman,  it  would  be  only  proper  that  it  should.  But 
I  do  not  design  now  to  propose --only  feel  my  way  a  little  far 
ther,  and  make  it  clear.  1  Hatter  myself  that  I  was  not  wholly 


A  'PROPHLC?    FULFILLED.  157 

wanting  in  interest  to  M?ss  Sinclair,  when  we  were  at  the  bar 
ony  together." 

"  On  that-  subject  I  can  say  nothing.  I  only  know  that  I 
afforded  you  full  opportunity.  You  owe  me  something  for  the 
prolonged  employment  which  I  gave  to  the  old  man  in  private."1 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  ;  and  I  am  grateful,  believe  rne.  But,  my 
dear  Lord  Rawdon,  will  you  not  go  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible,  at  this  moment  ?" 

"  What's  to  prevent  ?  The  enemy  is  beyond  reach,  across 
the  Wateree,  and  not  in  a  condition  to  give  us  any  trouble . 
You  have  quieted  all  discontents  here ;  got  the  army  once  morj 
into  regular  paces ;  and  here's  Stuart  and  Cruger." 

"  By-the-way,"  said  Rawdon,  looking  round,  "  where's  Cru 
ger?" 

"  He  slipped  out,  the  moment  I  began  to  talk  matrimony,  as 
if  a  soldier's  loves  were  ever  a  secret.  But  here  you  have  Stu 
art  and  Cruger,  both  veterans  and  trustworthy ;  the  roads  are 
clear ;  and  we  both  need  air,  exercise,  change,  and  a  fresh 
glimpse  of  that  social  world  which  is  so  grateful  to  both  of  us. 
That  old  medicine  of  the  baron  will  do  wonders  with  you.  Let 
me  prescribe  for  you,  my  dear  lord,  and  share  the  benefits  of 
the  prescription." 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,  I  can  hardly  balk  your  humor.  It 
jumps  with  my  own.  Order  an  escort  of  fifty  or  a  hundred 
picked  mounted  men,  and  report  when  ready." 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !"  shouted  the  young  Irishman  as  he  darted 
out  of  the  apartment. 

The  fevered  tone  of  Rawdon  led  him  to  anticipate  favorable 
results  from  the  proposed  journey.  He  wondered  that  he  him 
self  had  not  though  of  it  before.  He  was,  accordingly,  quite 
ready,  when  Fitzgerald  reported  his  escort  to  be  so. 

And  glad  were  all  parties  once  more  to  be  upon  the  high 
road.  The  cavalcade  departed  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morn 
ing. 

That  very  day,  at  sunrise,  old  Rhodes  had  an  interview  with 
Mrs.  Travis  and  her  daughter.  We  need  not  report  the  dia 
logue  between  them.  Enough,  that  she  contracted  to  give  him 
her  order  upon  her  husband  for  one  hundred  guineas,  the  mo 
ment  that  he  (Rhodes)  should  conduct  her  party  to  Nelson's 


158  EUTAW. 

fp.'-ry  in  safety;  the  paper  to  be  so  worded  thai  no  que.su'c-7-.a 
were  to  be  asked ;  and  the  draft  was  to  be  made  payable  to 
bearer. 

And  they,  too,  set  off  on  their  progress,  as  soon  after  the  ar 
rangement  was  made  as  possible. 

"  Let  us  go  at  once,  mother;  do  not  wait  for  breakfast  —  wait 
for  nothing---  I  am  dying  for  sunlight  and  fresh  air  !'' 

The  carriage  was  soon  made  ready.  When  old  Cato  appeared 
in  sight  of  his  mistress,  the  old  fellow  was  greatly  affected  — 
tears  were  in  his  eyes — but  he  never  relaxed  in  his  solemnity. 

"Dey  has  kep'  you  fastened  up,  mistress  —  and  you,  Miss 
Bert'a.  Le'  me  tell  you  dat  dey  had  fasten'  me  up  too.  Ef 
'twan't  for  dat,  missis,  I'd  ha'  made  'em  see  de  debble  wid  bote 
eyes  tell  dey  let  you  out !" 

And  he  shook  the  hands  of  both,  as  if  he  would  have  wrung 
them  off.  Cato  was  once  more  upon  the  box,  and  beginning  to 
feei  himself.  But  the  two  Bhodes's,  father  and  son,  Mat  Floyd 
and  the  rest  of  the  gang,  rode  in  company,  keeping  close  to  tho 
driver  on  each  side  of  the  carriage.  Moll  Rhodes  was  left  at 
their  encampment.  The  job  would  afford  twenty  guineas  a  piece 
to  each  of  the  gang,  and  they  were  not  the  persons  to  trust  one 
another.  But  for  tiiis  suspicion  among  themselves  and  of  them 
selves,  they  well  knew  that  any  one  of  them  would  have  sufficed 
for  an  escort.  And  so  the  party  drove  and  rode. 

An  hour  after  they  had  gone,  Nelly  Floyd  found  her  way  t? 
the  place  of  harborage,  found  her  sister  Molly  only,  and  the 
woman  who  kept  house.  Molly  told  her  very  freely  that  they 
had  all  departed,  but  lied  to  her  on  the  subject  of  the  route 
taken.  Some  little  pains  had  been  taken  to  conceal  the  carriage 
tracks,  as  on  a  previous  occasion.  The  ladies  had  walked  to  it 
{p.to  the  woods,  a  hundred  or  two  yards  below  the  settlement. 
.And  so,  poor  Nelly  was  once  more  on  a  wide  sea  of  conjecture, 
bit  still  resolute  to  seek,  in  the  hope  to  find  and  aid. 

But  Nelly  Floyd  was  not  the  girl  to  wait  long  in  uncertainty, 
She  was,  as  the  reader  will  have  observed,  a  girl  of  very  re 
markable  enthusiasm,  the  secret  of  her  restless  and  energetic 
action,  and  of  a  beautiful  feminine  simplicity  of  character,  free 
from  all  affectations,  and  resolutely  earnest  and  religiously  true, 
U.er  supposed  madness  was  due  to  '.hi^  simplicity  \\]/  Oi  prompted 


A    PROPHECY    FULFILLED.  159 

her  to  speak  fearlessly,  and  withoiit  circumlocution  always,  just 
what  she  thought,  and  the  enthusiasm  which  as  constantly  lifted 
her  moods  beyond  the  aim  of  all  around  her,  and  into  an  inten 
sity  which  the  coarse  and  inferior  mind  rarely  comprehends  when 
unassociated  with  a  selfish  object. 

Nelly  took  the  road  downward,  governed,  it  would  seem,  by 
a  mere  instinct.  She  reflected  that  there  was  a  carriage  and  a 
heavy  one,  heavily  laden,  to  retard  the  rapidity  of  the  part}', 
and  by  putting  her  pon}^  into  a  smart  canter,  she  reasonably 
calculated  to  overcome  the  lost  hour  which  the  fugitives 
had  been  upon  the  road.  She  succeeded  in  doing  so,  and  to 
the  surprise  and  annoyance  of  old  Rhodes,  she  suddenly  dashed 
up  alongside  of  the  coach,  presenting  a  curious  if  not  startling 
appearance  to  the  two  ladies  within.  They  remarked  her  singular 
costume,  almost  -approaching  the  Turkish — her  short  frock,  and 
loose  trowsers,  and  the  fantastic  round  hat — man  fashion  upon  her 
head.  It  did  not  escape  them  too,  the  poverty  of  the  material 
of  which  her  dress  was  composed,  and  they  were  accordingly 
wise  enough  to  ascribe  to  necesity  what  a  vulgar  wit  might 
have  referred  to  taste.  Spite  of  all,  the  whole  appearance  of 
the  girl  was  picturesque  and  pleasing.  Her  wild,  great,  dilat 
ing  black  eye,  prominent  in  high  degree,  the  wonderful  spirit 
and  intelligence  of  her  features,  the  sweetness  of  her  mouth, 
the  grace  of  her  movement  sitting  on  her  horse,  or  managing 
it— all  these  things,  seen  at  a  glance,  struck  the  ladies  as 
equally  curious  and  interesting.  Her  language  was  not  less  a 
surprise. 

"You  here!"  demanded  old  Rhodes — "what  do  you  want 
now?" 

' '  I  want  to  know  if  these  ladies  are  free  agents — are  they 
satisfied  with  your  keeping?" 

"What's  that  to  you?  Better  be  off,  Nelly,  and  don't  meddle 
any  more  in  our  consarns.  Remember  last  night." 

"I  shall  not  forget  it,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him  sternly. 
"But  nothing  that  you  can  do  shall  scare  me  from  my  purpose. 
I  must  hear  from  better  authority  than  yourself,  whether  these 
ladies  arc  satisfied." 

"Well,  ef  the}'  ain't,  what  kin  you  do  for  them,  Nelly?"  de 
manded  her  orother. 


160  EUTAW. 

"  God  will  tell  me.      He  will  answer  you,"  she  replied  - 
'*  wait !   and  see  what  he  says." 

"  In  her  tantrums  again  !"  said  old  Rhodes.  The  girl  did  not 
notice  him  even  with  a  look,  but  turning  to  the  window  of  the 
carriage  she  said  : — 

"  I  endeavored  last  night  to  serve  you,  ladies  —  " 

'J  Was  it  you  ?"  demanded  Bertha,  eagerly,  her  eyes  already 
betraying  -the  singular  interest  which  she  had  taken  in  the 
girl. 

"  What  makes  you  talk  of  that,  Nelly  ?"  said  her  brother 
gruffly  —  "why  kain't  you  be  off  now,  and  leave  men's  affairs 
alone  ?" 

"  Devil's  affairs,  you  mean.  No !  I  will  not  leave  alone 
when  I  can  balk  the  evil-doer.  I  can't.  I  spoke  with  you 
last  night,"  she  continued,  addressing  the  ladies  —  "I  would 
have  served  you,  but  that  old  man  seized  me,  and  would  have 
murdered  me — " 

"Murdered  you  !"  exclaimed  Bertha. 

"Yes!" 

"  No !  I  say,"  cried  Rhodes,  "  'twas  only  to  skear  her  that  I 
showed  the  knife." 

"  It  matters  not  now,"  said  Nelly.  "  God  knows  who  is  true 
or  false  in  the  world.  What  I  wish  to  know  of  you,  ladies, 
is,  whether  you  are  \villingly  in  the  escort  of  this  old  man." 

"  He  has  contracted  to  conduct  us  safely  to  Nelson's  Ferry." 

"  What  do  you  fear,  except  from  him  and  such  as  he  ?  He 
has  extorted  money  from  you,  I  know  it.  But  he  will  never 
live  to  use  it.  I  see  the  judgment  of  God  written  in  his  face." 

"  She's  crazy,  ma'am ;  mad  as  a  wild-cat  when  the  dogs  are 
a'ter  her,"  said  old  Rhodes. 

"  Tell  me  in  what  way  I  can  serve  you,"  continued  the  girl 
never  noticing  the  old  ruffian. 

"  I  know  not  how  you  can,  my  dear  girl,"  answered  Mrs 
Travis  somewhat  bewildered. 

"  We  are  as  ignorant  as  you  are,"  said  Bertha,  "  of  the  means 
of  succor;  but  if  you  could  meet  with  Major  Sinclair,  or  any  of 
Marion's  captains,  especially  Captain  St.  Julien — " 

"Look  here,  ladies,  I  must  put  a  stop  to  the  talking  with  this 
mad  critter,"  interposed  old  Rhodes,  now  very  angry.  "  Hark 


A    PROPHECY    FULFILLED.  16 

ye,  Nelly  Floyd,  ef  you  ain't  off  from  us  now  in  a  twink,  l'» 
lace  your  hide  with  a  hickory,  brother  or  no  brother.'' 

"  No  you  don't,  Jeff  Rhodes,"  said  Mat,  "  or  you  laces  me 
first.  But  be  off,  Nelly,  you've  no  business  here,  I  tell 
you." 

The  girl  looked  defiance  only,  her  eye  settling  upon  that  ct 
Rhodes,  till  the  old  ruffian  shrunk  beneath  the  glance. 

"You  do  not  surely  talk  of  whipping  that  young  girl,"  said 
Bertha  Travis. 

"  Whip  her  !  Yes,  she  desarves  it,  if  human  ever  did  :  and 
jest  you  take  hold  of  Mat,  boys,  and  keep  him  quiet,  whue  i 
gives  her  a  lesson  in  cowhide,  which  is  jest  as  good  as  hickorv." 

Meanwhile,  "Cato  stopped  the  carriage. 

"  What  the do  you  stop  for  1    Drive  up,"  said  one  of  iho 

party. 

"  Beg  you  pardon,  sah !  I  guine  yeddy  fus'  what  missis 
say.1' 

"Say!"  cried  Bertha — "I  say,  old  man,  that  if  you  lay  a 
hand  in  anger  upon  that  young  woman,  you  shall  not  receive 
one  copper  from  us." 

"  Does  you  say  so,  young  mistress,"  cried  old  Rhodes,  now 
thoroughly  furious,  "  then,  by  the  etarnal  hokies,  I  drives  you 
back  to  your  captivation.  Turn  about,  nigger." 

«D — n  ef  I  does!"  cried  Cato. 

"  Knock  the  nigger  off,  Nat,  and  jump  into  the  seat.  We'll 
see  to  your  nag.  And  as  he  gave  the  order,  old  Rhodes  darted 
round  to  the  side  of  the  carriage  where  Nelly  was.  Mat  Floyd 
dashed  at  him  and  passed  between.  The  girl  remained  un 
moved.  There  was  a  moment  of  hesitation  in  old  Rhodes's 
countenance;  he  seemed  to  be  considering  the  question  of  odds 
between  himself  and  young  Floyd,  who,  while  resolute  to  pro 
tect  his  sister,  yet  appeared  to  be  very  angry  at  her  appearance 
and  interference.  While  the  parties  were  thus  grouped,  and  un 
certain,  a  shout  behind  them  drew  their  attention  up  the  road ; 
and  old  Rhodes  cried  : — 

"  Great  Gimini,  it's  an  army,  I  reckon." 

It  was  Rawdon  and  Fitzgerald  with  a  mounted  escort  of  a 
hundred  men. 

"  Overhaul  those  people,"  was  the  command  of  Rawdon,  and 


J62  EUTAW. 

a  score  or  two  of  bis  escort  put  their  'horses  to  a  canter  and  came 
charging  down  the  road. 

"Sauve  qm  pent!"  was  the  cry  ;  or  rendered  into  Jeff  Rhodes's 
English  —  "  Heel  it,  boys,  hyar's  old  h — 1  upon  us.  As  for  yon, 
d — n  you,"  roared  the  old  ruffian  to  Nelly,  as  he  wheeled  to  fly 
with  the  rest,  "you  shall  have  your  pay  for  the  mischief  you've 
done ;"  and  even  as  he  fled,  before,  his  purpose  could  be  con 
ceived,  he  discharged  his  pistol  full  at  the  head  of  Nelly  Floyd. 
and  at  a  distance  of  less  than  eight  paces.  She  was  seen  to 
shudder,  then  fling  herself  from  the  pony.  She  stood  a  moment, 
then  stepped  to  the  roadside,  and  quietly  let  herself  down  by 
the  bushes. 

"  0  God  !  they  have  killed  her/'  cried  Bertha,  as  she  saw  the 
girl  sink  down  at  length  among  the  bushes.  "Open  the  door,. 
Cato,  and  let  us  get  out." 

But  the  horses,  alarmed  by  the  pistol-shot  just  over  their 
heads,  became  unmanageable,  took  the  bits  between  their  teeth 
and  dashed  down  the  road. 

Meanwhile  Rawdon  had  seen  the  proceeding. 

"  Scatter  over  the  woods,  fellows,  and  cut  off  these  wretches/1 
was  his  prompt  command,  and  fifty  troopers  dashed  off  in  pur 
suit.  Soon  pistol-shots  were  heard,  then  shouts,  and  for  a  time 
silence.  The  outlaws  were  all  well  mounted.  This  was  always 
a  leading  object,  to  be  attained  at  any  sacrifice.  Generally 
speaking,  the  British  troopers,  at  this  period  of  the  war,  were 
ill-provided  with  beasts.  What  they  rode  were  small  and  feebie. 
The  stables  had  been  picked  everywhere.  But  the  escort  of 
Rawdon  had  been  selected  with  care,  and  several  of  the  men 
rode  good  horses.  An  hour  was  consumed  while  Rawdon,  with 
the  half  of  his  escort  kept  the  road.  Fitzgerald  was  gone,  like 
a  flash,  the  moment  the  outlaws  were  seen  to  fly.  The  pursuit 
was  hot.  Nat  Rhodes,  goading  his  beast  with  headlong  fury, 
was  suddenly  seen  whirled  out  of  his  saddle.  His  brains  were 
dashed  out  against  a  tree,  and  his  back  was  broken.  As  Nelly 
had  promised  him,  he  had  equally  escaped  rope  and  bullet. 
Old  Rhodes  was  brought  down  by  a  pistol-shot  at  long  range  ; 
when  the  troopers  came  up  with  him  he  was  dying.  The  bullet 
had  passed  through  his  body.  His  mouth,  however,  was  fuli  of 


A    PROPHECY    FULFILLED.  163 

execrations.  He  was  intelligible.  To  the  first  trooper  who  came  up, 
he  said  : — 

"You  got  the  wind  of  me.  I'm  done  for;  but  that  b lied. 

She  set  me  up  for  the  gallows.  But  she  lied." 

"It's  not  too  late,"  said  the  trooper.  "Here's,  boys,  let  fulfil 
a  prophecy  ; "  and  in  a  moment,  a  cord  was;  adjusted  about  the 
throat  of  the  gasping  wretch,  and  he  was  haled  up  to  the  limb 
of  the  tree  that  swung  above  them.  He  was  conscious  to  the 
last — horribly  conscious — for  he  howled  curses  until  the  gur 
gling  breath  could  no  longer  be  resolved  into  nny  articulate 
sounds. 

Mat  Floyd,  and  the  two  younger  scamps,  his  associates,  suc 
ceeded  in  making  their  escape.  Meanwhile,  old  Cato  had 
managed  to  bring  up  his  horses  heads'  and  turn  them  about, 
and  when  the  pursuing  party  emerged  from  the  woods,  they 
found  Lord  Rawdon,  and  the  ladies  alighted  from  horse  and  car 
riage  and  busied  in  the  work  of  restoring  the  strage  wild  girl  to  con 
sciousness. 


EHTAW 


CHAPTER   XV. 

TRAILING   OF   THE   SCOUT. 

FORTUNATELY,  the  surgeon  of  Lord  Rawdon  was  along  with 
Hs  party.  He  was  engaged  in  examining  the  hurt  of  Ne.l'lv. 
wbicii  was  in  the  shoulder,  when  she  opened  her  eyes  to  con 
sciousness.  She  strove  to  rise ;  looking  somewhat  bewildered, 
and  more  conscious,  apparently,  of  the  unwonted  persons  about 
her,  than  of  her  wound.  They  would  not  suffer  her  efforts,  the 
surgeon  continued  his  examination,  and  to  the  relief  of  all 
parties,  pronounced  the  injury  to  be  trifling  —  a  mere  flesh 
wound,  the  effects  of  which  a  few  days  of  quiet  would  entirely 
relieve.  He  dressed  the  wound  where  she  lay,  and  she  was 
then,  at  the  voluntary  instance  of  Mrs.  Travis,  lifted  into  the 
carriage.  It  was  a  narrow  escape,  however ;  the  wound  was 
given  obliquely,  as  the  profile  of  the  girl  was  presented  to  the 
assassin.  The  bullet  barked  the  arm,  but  it  was  in  direct  line 
with  the  heart ;  an  inch  one  side  or  the  other,  it  would  have 
been  instantly  fatal.  But  the  miserable  old  wretch  had  already 
paid,  with  his  life,  for  his  horrible  attempt  at  a  deadly  crime. 

Nelly  would  have  resisted  the  efforts  to  place  her  in  the  car 
riage,  if  she  could.  She  opposed  it  by  a  murmur  of  dissent. 

"  No  !  no  !     Aggy,  my  pony." 

She  could  do  no  more.     She  was  still  too  faint. 

"You  must  ride  with  us,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Travis  —  "  with 
me  and  my  daughter.  We  are  friends  and  will  take  care  of 
you  My  girl  here  will  ride  your  pony,  and  bring  him  along 
Uo  not  oppose  us.  We  are  friends,  my  child  " 

"Friends!  friends'"  murmured  the  irirl  ng-ain,  looking  with 


TRAILING   OP   THE   SCOUT.  •        1 6' 

an  earnest  tenderness  in  their  faces,  and  offering1  no  furthe. 
opposition.  She  yielded  herself  quietly  to  the  arms  of  those 
who  helped  her  into  the  carriage  —  assisted  herself — and  witL 
a  sad  sort  of  smile  scorn  to  thank  her  newly-found  friends. 

"  Good  stuff,"  said  the  surgeon  —  "  makes  no  unnecessary  fuss. 
Half  of  the  young  lady  patients  I  have  known,  in  euch  a  situa- 
tion,  and  with  so  many  eyes  upon  them,  would  ha^e  required 
help  for  every  curl  upon  their  temples." 

The  increasing  consciousness  of  the  girl  was  apparent  in  her 
eyes,  the  moment  she  entered  the  carriage,  in  the  expression 
not  only  of  pain,  but  of  anxiety.  Sbe  suddenly  looked  out  of 
the  carriage  windows  at  the  troopers  and  the  woods,  and  then 
sank  back  with  a  slight  moan.  But  this  was  not  the  effect  of 
any  physical  suffering.  Thought  was  busy.  "  Whe~e  is  Mat  1" 
"  Is  he  safe  ?"  Her  own  helplessness,  at  the  moment,  in  the 
feeling  of  doubt,  indicated  by  these  questions  to  herself,  war 
the  parent  of  the  moan. 

Here  a  conference  took  place  between  Lord  Rawdon  and  the 
•adies. 

"  The  Sinclair  barony  is  scarce  two  miles  distant,  ladies,'' 
said  his  lordship,  "  and  from  my  knowledge  of  the  proprietor, 
Colonel  Sinclair,  I  can  assure  you  of  his  own  and  the  hospitable 
welcome  of  his  daughter.  I  am  bent  thither  myself,  and  will, 
be  happy  to  give  you  my  escort.  If  you  will  allow  me  to 
counsel,  you  will  stop  there  for  awhile,  till  my  dragoons  shall 
scour  these  woods,  when  you  can  pursue  your  further  progress 
in  safety.  This  young  creature  will  need  to  rest  there  for  a 
few  days." 

Here  a  whispered  conversation  ensued  between  the  mother 
and  daughter — the  latter  somewhat  earnestly  saying— '' OL 
no,  mother !  not  there  !  not  there  !" 

Lord  Rawdon  had  quick  ears.     He  overheard  the  wcrcic 

"  And  why  not,  my  dear  young  lady  ?  I  can  answer,  wit;  o-r 
hesitation  for  the  cordial  welcome  of  Colonel  Sinclair  and  bv 
admirable  daughter." 

The  mother  answered  for  Bertha  Travis. 

"We  are  so  circumstanced,  sir — my  lord  —  that  we  are  nc 
permitted  to  pause  anywhere,  if  it  is  in  our  power  to  avo; 
doing  so.  But  we  will  drive  to  Colonel  Sinclair's  residence  an 


166    •  EUTAW. 

leave  our  patient,  to  whom  the  refuge  is,  perhaps,  absolutely 
necessary." 

My  lord  was  a  little  curious.  He  saw  that  Mrs.  Travis  was  a  real 
lady,  of  good  condition,  and  his  eyes  were  not  insensible  to  the 
beauty  of  her  daughter.  Who  were  they  ?  Where  can  they  be 
travelling  ?  With  what  mission  ?  In  the  conference  that  had  taken 
place  between  them,  he  observed  their  shyness  and  reserve  in  respect 
to  themselves.  As  a  gentleman,  he  could  not  venture  to  ask  any 
direct  questions  on  any  of  these  matters.  He  could  only  insinuate 
his  desires  indirectly, 

"  I  do  not  see  exactly  where  you  can  find  accommodations  along 
this  route  for  the  night,  if  you  go  farther  —  none,  certainly,  which 
would  be  grateful  to  you,  madam.  And  we  know  not  how  many 
gangs  of  such  scoundrels  as  we  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
disperse,  may  be  upon  the  road.  If  I  knew  whither  you  were 
going—" 

He  paused  here,  judiciously.  The  old  lady  smiled  gratefully,  but 
said  : — 

"I  fancy,  my  lord,  your  late  service  will  suffice.  We  have  every 
assurance  that  the  route  is  now  clear,"  —  and  so  forth. 

"Well,  madam,  I  trust  when  we  get  to  the  barony  of  our  friend 
Sinclair,  that  his  amiable  daughter  will  prove  more  eloquent  in  per 
suasion  than  a  rough  soldier  like  myself." 

The  old  lady's  reply  showed  her  to  be  far  from  inexperienced  in 
the  easy  verbal  play  of  good  society. 

"Where  the  soldier  and  the  courtier  so  perfectly  unite,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  my  lord",  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  suppose  that  any 
persuasion  can  be  needed  to  enforce  your  own." 

His  lordship  bowed : 

"Madam,  your  reply  would  seem  to  show  that  you  are  possessed 
of  some  good  Irish  affinities.  May  I  have  the  honor  to  know,  that  I 
may  recall  this  interview  hereafter  with  more  satisfaction,  \vho 
are  the  excellent  ladies  whom  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
succor  ?  " 

"Ah  !  my  lord,  your  Irish  frankness,  howewer  admirable,  must 
fail  to  prompt  me  to  its  emulation.  But  to  a  certian  extent 
I  will  be  frank  with  you.  We  are  on  a  secret  expedition. 
We  are  nameless  dames  on  an  enterprise.  You  must  be  con 
tent,  as  a  soldier  and  gentleman,  with  the  single  assurance 


TRAILING    OF   THE   SCOUT.  167 

the  enterprise  does  not  contemplate  any  treason  against  king 
lords,  or  commons." 

Rawdon  laughed. 

"  You  are  too  much  for  me,  my  dear  madam.  But  it  did  not 
need  this  assurance.  I  have  only  to  look  into  your  own,  and 
the  face  of  your  daughter,  to  answer  for  the  loyalty  of  both." 

And  he  bowed  low  upon  his  charger,  waved  his  hand  forward, 
a  bugle  sounded,  and  he  rode  away  from  the  carriage,  which 
came  on  slowly  —  one  half  of  the  dragoons  bringing  up  the  rear. 

"  Who  the  d — 1  can  they  be  ?"  said  Rawdou,  as  Lord  Edward 
Fitzgerald  dashed  up  beside  him.  "  Quite  an  adventure,  Lord 
Edward,  for  a  young  chevalier  des  dames." 

"  Have  you  made  them  out,  my  lord  1" 

"  Not  a  syllable.  The  old  lady  is  close.  She  confessed  to  a 
mystery,  and  thus  silenced  all  further  attempts  to  get  at  it.  Her 
daughter,  by  the  way,  is  a  very  beautiful  creature." 

"  And  the  wounded  girl  strikes  me  wonderfully,  my  lord. 
Her  face  is  brown  but  exquisite.  She  might  sing  with  the 
dusk  nymph  of  Solomon  — '  I  am  dark  but  comely.'  But  did 
you  ever  see  such  a  costume — half  man's  —  quite  Turkish  ;  and 
she  evidently  rode  man-fashion,  and  on  a  man's  saddle.  She 
is  a  curiosity." 

And  so,  talking  as  they  rode,  they  at  length  entered  the 
noble  avenue  leading  to  the  Sinclair  barony.  As  they  rode 
considerably  in  advance  of  the  carriage,  they  were  able  to  get 
over  all  the  preliminaries  of  the  meeting  with  the  veteran  of 
that  establishment,  and  to  apprize  himself  and  the  fair  Carrie 
Sinclair,  of  the  approaching  visitors,  and'  their  patient. 

"  I  have  promised  a  welcome  for  all  at  your  hands,  my  dear 
Miss  Sinclair,  for  they  will  interest  you,  as  they  have  interested 
me.  The  wounded  girl  is  something  of  a  curiosity,  but  a. plea 
singly  piquant  one.  The  other  ladies  express  their  determina 
tion  to  travel  on,  after  delivering  the  girl  to  your  hospitality ; 
but  you  maybe  more  successful  than  myself  in  persuading  them 
to  become  your  guests  for  a  season.  I  know  not  who  they  are 
—  can  not  guess — and  acknowledge  myself  to  be  curious. 
They  are  evidently  well  bred,  and  the  daughter  is  quite  a 
beauty,  though  my  Lord  Edward  scarcely  finds  her  standard 
of  beauty  to  his  taste," 


iGc  EUTAW. 

The  last  sentence  was  an  adroit  speech  made  for  the  gallant 
aid-de-camp.  Of  course,  Carrie  Sinclair  was  in  the  piazza 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  cortege.  As  the  carriage  diove  up 
to  the  steps,  she  hurried  down  to  it,  without  reserve,  and,  with 
the  frankness  of  her  temperament,  and  the  graceful  ease  wjiich 
was  natural  to  all  her  actions,  she  endeavored  to  succeed  in 
the  object  in  which  Rawdon  had  failed. 

Bertha's  eyes  eagerly  observed  her  as  the  carriage  was 
approaching. 

"  She  is  very  beautiful,  mother,  and  very  much  like  Willie. 
Do  you  not  see  the  likeness  1  Oh  !  how  I  long  to  speak  out  to 
her  —  to  feel  her  arms  around  me." 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  mother,  glancing  to  Nelly. 

The  quick  ears  of  Nelly  heard  the  warning.  She  smiled,  and 
put  her  hand  in  that  of  Bertha,  so  confidingly,  so  promptly,  and 
with  such  tenderness,  that  the  action  said  everything.  From 
that  moment  Bertha  would  have  freely  trusted  her  with  the 
dearest  secret  of  her  soul. 

Time  was  allowed  for  no  more.  They  were  at  the  steps, 
The  carriage  stopped.  Carrie  Sinclair  was  already  beside  it, 
and  there  were  assistants  ready  to  lift  out  the  wounded  girl. 
But  she  suffered  none  of  them.  She  but  looked  into  Carrie's 
face,  and  that  was  enough.  She  took  her  arm  —  hers  only  — 
and  was  conducted  up  the  steps  into  the  parlor.  Having  laid 
her  on  the  sofa,  Carrie  ran  out  again  to  the  carriage. 

"  Come  in  —  oh,  do  !     Alight,  if  you  please.     Do  not  refuse." 

And,  just  then,  a  servant  brought  a  message  from  the  wound 
ed  girl,  begging  to  see  the  ladies  for  a  moment.  They  could 
not  deny  her  —  and  in  another  moment,  Bertha  Travis  stood 
within  the  stately  halls  of  her  lover's  father.  How  she  longed 
to  throw  herself  into  Carrie's  arms,  and  say  "  sister ;"  but 
the  policy  was  thought  to  be  doubtful,  by  both  mother  and 
daughter  ;  and  the  lords,  Rawdon  and  Fitzgerald,  were  pres 
et,  and  there  too  was  the  old  baron  Sinclair,  in  his  easy-chair, 
with  his  feet  upon  a  cushion.  All  eyes  were  upon  the  party, 
and  emotions  were  impossible. 

The  ladies  sat  beside  Nelly,  and  she  took  the  hands  ;f  Ber 
tha,  and  looked  up  into  her  face,  smiled  archly  —  so  Bertha 
thought— and  murmured  a  few  syllables  of  thanks.  The* 


TilAlLING    OF   THE    SCOUT.  1G9 

came  the  surgeon  who  felt  her  pulse,  and  nodded  his  head  as  if 
approving  her  performances.  And  then  refreshments  were 
handed. 

Meanwhile,  Colonel  Sinclair  added  his  voice  of  entreat}^  that 
the  ladies  would  remain  at  the  barony.  And  he  was  a  gentle 
man,  doing  the  graces  of  the  host  handsomely,  spite  of  the  sharp 
twinges  in  his  feet.  The  old  despot  little  dreamed  who  were 
the  parties  whom  he  so  solicited.  And  Carrie  Sinclair  renewed 
her  solicitations  as  warmly  as  if  she  had  known  them  and  loved 
them  a  thousand  years.  And  little  Lottie,  her  younger  sister,  stole 
up  to  Bertha,  and  got  hold  of  her  hand,  and  said  —  "Do  stay. 
I  like  your  looks."  And  poor  Bertha  hardly  kept  the  tears 
down  from  her  eyes,  as  she  thought  of  Willie  and  remembered 
that  these  were  his  sisters.  How  she  longed  to  go  aside  with 
Carrie,  and  tell  her  all.  But  she  could  only  sigh  in  answer, 
leaving  it  to  her  mother,  to  play  the  inflexible  in  open  terms. 
And  the  old  lady  did  her  part  firmly,  but  not  without  her  emo 
tions  also,  and  made  it  finally  evident  to  all  parties,  that  en 
treaty  was  unavailing.  Still,  she  so  completely  fulfilled  the 
conditions  of  the  lady,  that  the  sting  was  taken  from  refusal; 
and  when  they  had  gone,  it  was  agreed  with  one  voice,  that  they 
were  certainly  fine  women,  and  ladies  too. 

"And  —  Avhat  a  beautiful  girl,"  said  Carrie,  as  she  turned, 
from  looking  after  the  receding  carriage,  and  took  her  place  be 
side  the  wounded  girl,  possessing  herself  of  her  hand. 

"  Who  can  they  be  ]  Do  you  know  V  to  Nelly.  Nelly 
smiled,  as  she  whispered — 

"  Yes ;  but  I  must  not  tell." 

"  There  is  really,  then,  a  mystery." 

Nelly  did  know  —  possibly  by  guess  only ;  but  it  was  quite 
sufficient  for  the  simple  truthful  nature  of  the  girl,  that  the  par 
ties  most  interested  in  the  secret,  were  desirous  that  it  should 
remain  so.  Her  instincts  were  Heaven's  teaching;  and  the 
proprieties  came  to,  and  tutored  her  mind,  without  any  neces 
sary  effort  of  the  thought.  And  this  is  always  the  way  with 
the  ingenuous  spirit,  where  nature  has  strength  enough  to  assert, 
and  is  permitted  to  have  her  own  way. 

After  resting  awhile,  Nelly  was  able  to  retire  with  Car.vio  to 
ljer  chamber,  where  the  two  soon  became  intimate;  the 

8 


170  EUTAW. 

being  surprised  and  interested  Avith  every  moment's  increased 
knowledge  of  the  curious  stranger.  Her  nice  propriety  of 
thought  and  phrase,  the  high  pitch  of  her  enthusiasm,  showing 
itself  gradually  as  she  warmed  with  society,  her  bold  imagina 
tion,  the  spiritual  lifting  of  her  thought  —  all  seemingly  so  much 
at  variance  with  her  apparent  isolation  in  life,  and  the  peculi 
arity  of  her  costume.  Of  course,  it  had  been  ascertained  by 
Rawdon  that  the  two  ladies,  who  had  continued  their  journey, 
knew  absolutely  nothing  of  her.  They  had  not  seen  her  be 
fore,  and  though  they  might  have  told  of  her  generous  attempt 
to  rescue  them  the  night  previous,  still,  it  did  not  occur  to  them 
to  do  so ;  and,  indeed,  in  the  caution  Avhich  kept  them  from  all 
communicativeness,  they  had  said  not  a  syllable  of  their  late 
captivity. 

Meanwhile,  a  detachment  of  Rawdon's  escort  beat  the  woods 
in  the  Sinclair  precincts ;  the  larger  body  making  their  camps 
in  the  open  ground  in  front  of  the  mansion,  and  along  the 
avenue.  The  scout  resulted  in  no  discoveries ;  the  woods  wer& 
clear.  The  outlaws  were  all  off,  in  other  thickets  or  lying 
perdue,  so  close  that  no  ordinary  search  could  find  them. 

You  will  please  suppose  that  Carrie  Sinclair  was  remiss  in 
none  of  her  duties,  entertaining  her  own  and  the  guests  of  her 
father.  That  she  made  our  poor  Nelly  comfortably  at  home, 
we  may  take  for  granted  —  that  she  made  her  quite  easy  in 
mind  was  impossible.  Nelly  could  not  subdue  her  fears  foi 
Mat.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  fate.  She  heard  nothing  of 
that  of  old  Rhodes,  and  his  son  Nat,  her  brother-in-law.  Her 
anxiety  lessened  the  degree  of  satisfaction  which  she  might 
have  felt  in  the  solicitous  kindness  of  Carrie  Sinclair ;  but  she 
was  not  insensible  to  it,  and  with  that  rare  instinct  which  sho 
possessed,  for  the  appreciation  of  character,  she  did  not  require 
much  intercourse  to  see  and  feel  all  that  was  charming  and 
beautiful  in  that  of  Carrie  Sinclair. 

But  the  latter — like  the  gentle  lady  married  to  the  Moor  — 
was  required  to  see  to  the  household  affairs.  So,  leaving  Nelly 
to  the  companionship  of  little  Lottie,  she  descended  to  her  du 
ties.  We  shall  not  follow  her  in  these  performances.  We  are 
to  suppose  that  tnere  were  intervals  when  she  looked  in  upon 
her  father's  pue8f.8  massing  from  hall  and  pantry  to  parlor,  and 


TRAILING    OF   THE   SCOUT.  17 J 

occasionally  lingering  in  speech  with  the  gentlemen.  Of  course, 
my  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  sought  his  opportunities,  and  seized 
avidly  on  all  that  he  found.  Rawdon  had  too  much  to  confer 
upon  with  the  old  colonel,  to  interfere  with,  or  note,  the  prog 
ress  of  his  aid-de-camp.  The  day  hurried  on.  Supper  was 
served  and  discussed;  and,  after  supper,  Lord  Edward  per 
suaded  Carrie  to  the  harpsichord.  She  played  and  sang  for 
him — not  for  him  only  ;  for  the  surgeon,  the  captain  of  the  de 
tachment,  and  a  couple  of  young  scions  of  nobility,  had,  of 
course,  received  the  freedom  of  the  house,  and  were  present. 
Rawdon  remained  with  Colonel  Sinclair  in  the  supper-room, 
engaged  in  close  and  interesting  conversation  on  public  affairs. 

Let  us  leave  these  parties,  thus  engaged,  for  a  brief  season, 
while  we  note  the  progress  of  other  persons  in  this  truthful  his 
tory.  For  three  days  had  Jim  Ballou,  the  scout,  been  looking 
for  Willie  Sinclair  and  his  troopers,  and  in  vain.  The  scout  is 
at  a  loss. 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?"  he  argued  with  himself,  sitting  at  noon 
upon  a  fallen  tree  in  the  forest,  where  he  had  eaten  his  frugal 
dinner,  while  his  horse  was  browsing  about  for  the  coarse  and 
scanty  patches  of  grass  in  the  wood. 

"Where  can  he  be?  He's  left  me  no  tracks  this  time  —  no 
tracks.  He  must  be  hard  pressed  somewhere  —  hard  pressed 

—  or  he'd  ha'  made  out  to  let  me  know  where  to  look  for  him 

—  to  look.     I  must  try  the  barony.     I  reckon  he's  been  there 
Benny  Bowlegs,  perhaps,  knows  all  about  him.     By  this  time, 
'Brain  ought  to  be  getting  up  from  over  the  Santee  —  ought  to 
be.     He's  perhaps  at  the  barony  now  ;   he'll  take  it  in  his  way 
up.     He  or  Benny  Bowlegs  ought  to  be  knowing  where  to  find 
the  major  —  ought  to  be  knowing.     I'll   take   a  pe-ep   at  the 
barony." 

The  resolve  was  no  sooner  taken,  than  he  caught  up  his 
steed  and  mounted.  He  was  about  five  miles  from  the  barony. 
Picking  his  way  cautiously  through  the  woods,  avoiding  the 
public  road  where  this  was  possible,  our  scout  made  his  prog 
ress  very  slowly,  not  being  disposed  to  reach  the  barony  till 
night  had  fallen.  Meanwhile,  his  eyes  were  busy,  and  his  ears 
vigilant.  He  kept  his  course  in  the  thicket,  some  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  main  road,  thus  securing  himself  from  chance 


172  BUT  AW. 

discovery  of  wayfarers,  yet  sufficiently  near,  perhaps,  to  distin 
guish  the  sounds  from  any  body  of  horse  that  might  be  pursuing 
the  highway.  The  sun,  meanwhile,  gradually  sloped  down 
ward,  leaving  the  woods  clad  in  that  "  little  glooming  light, 
most  like  a  shade,"  which,  along  with  the  usual  stillness  of  a 
doep  forest,  imparts  such  a  solemn  and  impressive  character  to 
such  a  region  in  the  hour  of  twilight.  As  our  scout  mused  and 
rode,  thoughtful  and  observant,  he  was  necessarily  impressed 
by  the  moral  aspects  of  the  scene.  People  who  live  much  in 
the  solitude,  whether  of  a  mountain  or  a  forest  country,  have  a 
more  earnest  character,  more  religious  sensibility,  and  more  self- 
esteem,  and  less  vanity,  than  those  who'  dwell  in  more  crowded 
situations,  and  with  whom  the  daily  attrition  of  society  and  its 
small  diversions  lessen  the  intensity  and  the  concentrativeness 
of  thought.  Scouts  and  hunters  are  usually  of  grave  habit ; 
and,  in  the  single  province  in  which  their  mindy  work,  they  be 
come  wonderfully  tenacious  of  their  moods.  A  degree  of  solem 
nity  ensues  upon  this  concentration  of  thought,  and  the  marvel 
lous  and  spiritual  are  likely  to  have  large  exercise  in  their  souls, 
in  degree  as  their  fancies  become  active.  Jim  Ballon  was  not 
unlike  his  brethren ;  and,  in  a  situation  like  the  present,  his 
spiritual  sensibilities  usually  grew  more  lively  and  coercive. 
Having  first  settled  in  his  mind  what  he  had  to  do,  he  went  for 
ward  habitually,  not"  tasking  himself  to  think  of  the  routine 
performance  ;  but,  yielding  himself  up  to  the  foreign  —  the  mu 
sings  and  meditations  of  a  nature  which  is  only  suffered  to  assert 
itself  fully  in  the  solitude.  The  sildnce,  the  dusky  silence  of 
the  scene,  had  made  his  spiritual  nature  active,  and  our  scout 
was  brooding  upon  the  supernatural,  in  vague,  wandering  fan 
cies,  which  lifted  him  quite  above  the  earth.  He  was  thinking 
of  death,  of  the  grave,  and  of  those  dark  problems  of  the  won 
drous  future  which  no  thought  has  yet  been  found  sufficient  to 
solve.  Thus  lost  in  dubious  mazes,  and  heedless,  to  a  certain 
extent,  of  the  very  world  through  which  he  sped,  he  was  sud 
denly  aroused  by  a  wild  start  of  his  horse,  quite  aside  from  tho 
track,  as  if  with  a  sense  of  danger. 

"  A  snake !"  was  the  first  notion  of  Ballou.  He  fancied  the 
beast  had  been  struck,  and  looked  down  about  him;  but  there, 
was  no  snake.  lie  looked  up,  and  his  own  start  was  almost  as 


TRAILING    OF   THE   SCO^T.  173 

great  as  that  of  his  steed.  A  man  was  hanging,  quite  dead,  from 
the  very  bough  which  overhung  the  pathway.  It  was  some  min 
utes  before  the  veteran  scout,  whose  previous  meditations  had 
rendered  him  peculiarly  sensitive  at  this  moment,  could  recover 
his  steadiness  of  nerve  and  coolness  of  purpose,  so  as  to  resume 
his  habits  of  search  and  inquiry.  He  looked  about  him  heed- 
fully,  and  listened.  Everything  was  quiet  in  the  woods.  It 
was  the  stillness  of  death.  He  recovered  himself,  and  alighted 
from  his  steed,  which  he  fastened  carefully  a  little  away  from 
the  spot,  to  which  he  then  drew  nigh  slowly,  and  with  every 
faculty  of  watch  now  fully  aroused  and  anxious. 

He  examined  the  body  of  the  hanging  man.  It  was  that  of 
old  Rhodes. 

"  Don't  know  him,"  said  Ballou  to  himself;  "  don't  know  him, 
and  it's  too  late  for  him  to  make  himself  acquainted," 

He  felt  the  body. 

"  He's  been  dead  about  five  hours.  It's  mighty  curious ! 
There's  been  a  good  many  people  about  here,  and  horses." 

The  scout  then  circled  about  the  spot  like  a  hound,  enlarging 
the  sweep  of  his  circuit  gradually,  till  he  came  upon  the  body 
of  Nat  Rhodes. 

"  Curious !"  he  said.     "  What's  killed  this  man  V9 

He  turned  over  the  carcass,  found  the  horrid  crush  of  the 
bones  of  the  forehead,  but  no  other  wound. 

"  He's  had  his  brains  beat  out,"  said  he.  "  Somebody  has 
taken  him  while  he  slept,  and  brained  him  with  a  lightwood 
knot." 

The  scout  was  at  fault  for  once.  But  the  subject  was  not 
one  of  importance  to  his  present  object,  or  it  is  possible  he  would 
have  worked  out  the  problem  to  a  right  conclusion.  He  con 
tented  himself  with  extending  his  circuit,  and  found  the  numer 
ous  horse-tracks. 

"Hard  riding  here,"  quoth  hej  "there's  been  a  run  for  it, 
and  more  than  twenty  men  at  work." 

He  took  the  heaviest  tracks,  and  they  led  him  to  the  road 
side  where  the  action  had  begun.  He  found  that  a  tolerably 
numerous  troop  had  gone  by.  He  found  the  fresh  marks  of  the 
carriage-wheels.  At  length,  he  found  the  traces  of  the  blood 
from  poor  Nelly's  shoulder. 


174  EUTAW. 

"  There's  been  a  skrimmage  here  —  a  skrimmage  !  It's  pretty 
nigh  to  the  barony,- too.  I  reckon  Sinclair  or  St.  Julieii  had 
something  to  do  in  this  business." 

Having  satisfied  himself  of  all  that  could  be  gleaned  by  per 
sonal  inspection,  Ballon  remounted  his  horse.  The  sun  had 
now  set ;  the  woods  were  soon  enveloped  in  thick  darkness ; 
But  Ballou  knew  the  route  in  darkness  or  in  daylight  equally 
well,  and  rode  on  fearlessly,  till  he  reached  the  immediate  pre 
cincts  of  the  barony,  when  he  shot  aside,  went  toward  the  river- 
swamp,  and  finally,  after  fastening  his  horse  in  the  thicket,  stole 
forward  with  cautious  footsteps  to  a  wigwam  which  he  knew  to 
be  that  of  a  trusty  negro  of  Colonel  Sinclair.  He  found  Benny 
Bowlegs,  the  driver  of  the  plantation,  in  his  cabin. 

"  Ha !  Mass  Ballou,  you  yer,  and  de  ab'nue  fill'  wid  red 
coat  ?  More  dan  a  hundred,  I  'spec' ;  and  de  great  gineral  —  de 
British  gineral,  Lord  Roddon  —  he  yer  too;  and  de  young  Lord 
Fizgera'd,  him  yer  too,  and  de  hundred  dragoon,  and  heap  o' 
ossifers.  Oh,  ef  we  had  Mass  Willie,  wid  'noder  hundred  ob 
he  men,  wouldn't  we  hab  a  pretty  slashing  business,  eh  ?" 

Ballou  and  Benny  Bowlegs  talked  over  the  whole  history  in 
an  hour.  The  story  of  the  adventure  with  the  outlaws,  the 
rescue  of  the  carriage,  the  two  ladies,  and  the  strange  girl  who 
had  been  wounded  —  all  had  been  picked  up  by  Benny  Bow- 
legs,  and  enabled  Ballou  to  find  the  clue  to  his  own  discoveries 
of  the  day.  He  attached  no  sort  of  importance  to  the  ladies 
and  the  carriage,  since,  knowing  nothing  of  the  disasters  to  the 
female  part  of  Captain  Travis's  family,  he  never  once  fancied 
they  could  be  of  interest.  He  was  made  wiser  after  a  season. 

"  And  the  major  has  not  been  here,  Benny  ?" 

"  Who,  Mass  Willie  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  No  !  I  no  sh'um  [see  *em]." 

"  And  'Bram  ?" 

"  He  no  git  yer  yet." 

An  hour,  as  we  have  said,  sufficed  to  empty  Benny's  budget. 

"And  now,  Benny,"  said  Ballou,  "I  must  sleep  here  for  a 
while.  I'm  pretty  well  done  up.  Let  me  sleep  till  an  hour  be 
fore  day.  Then  I'll  be  off.  If  I  can  find  Willie  Sinclair,  with 
iiis  whole  battalion,  we  can  give  an  account  of  this  hundred 


TRAILING   OP  THE   SCOUT.  175 

men,  and  his  lordship  too.  That  would  be  a  great  affair, 
Benny." 

"  Wha' !  for  catch  de  red-coat  gineral  ?  Ha !  ef  Mass  Willie 
kin  do  dat,  I  reckon  de  liberty-people  guine  mek'  him  a  gineral 
hese'f.  Who  knows?" 

"  I'll  come  pretty  nigh  to  doing  it,  Benny :  so,  you  see,  wake 
me  an  hour  before  day,  and  let  me  be  off — be  off.  I'll  find  the 
major,  I  reckon,  higher  up.  And  if  I  can  do  so  —  soon  enough 
--we'll  box  up  this  lord-general  of  the  red-coats,  and  send  him 
on  to  Congress  for  a  show." 

"  Put  'em  in  cage,  enty  ?" 

And  the  negro  chuckled  heartily  at  the  notion ;  while,  throw 
ing  himself  down  on  a  blanket  in  the  hovel,  Ballou  was  sound 
asifcep  iii  twenty  minutes.  Benny,  meanwhile,  stole  out  to  carty 
provision.*  to  the  horse  of  the  scout. 


J?6  BUT  AW. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

OLD    TRAILS    TO    NEW    LABYRINTHS. 

AFTER  twelve  hours  farther  wandering,  Ballou  got  clues  at 
Jfcrris^e.-v^er's  to  the  route  taken  by  Willie  Sinclair,  and  he 
came  up  with  the  command  at  night,  on  the  edge  of  Sadler 
swamp.  His  appearance  filled  Sinclair  with  new  hope,  such 
were  the  acknowledged  abilities  of  the  scout.  He  could  hardly 
wait  to  hear  out  his  narrative. 

(t  So,  Inglehardt  has  taken  possession  of  'Bram's  Castle,  and 
Captain  Travis  and  Henry  are  there,  in  his  clutches,  prisoners, 
but  safe  —  unhurt,  you  say." 

"  Yes,  but  how  long  they'll  stay  there  is  a  question.  They 
didn't  seem  to  have  made  much  provision  for  keeping  the  garri 
son,  and  it's  hardly  reasonable  to  expect  them  to  keep  long  in 
one  of  our  old  harboring  places.  I  tracked  and  treed  'em 
there,  but  they  may  have  gone  off  an  hour  after  I  left;  I've 
been  looking  for  you  ever  since  Monday  last." 

"  That's  true  —  that's  the  clanger.  Still,  we  must  strike  at 
Inglehardt,  there,  or  anywhere.  We  must  try  and  follow  up 
his  track.  But  we  must  first  have  your  judgment,  Ballou,  in 
irspect  to  the  disappearance  of  Mrs.  Travis  and  her  daughter. 
We  must — " 

"  Disappearance  of  who,  colonel  ?" 

Sinclair  told  the  story. 

"  In  the  carriage  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  old  Onto  driving.  They  had  but  a  servant-girl  along 
with  them;  and  but  for  an  unlucky  rencontre  with  a  squad  of 
ilic  Florida  refugees,  which  diverted  St.  Julien  from  the  escort 
lor  several  hours,  there  could  have  beej;  i">  diiliculty." 


OLD  TRAILS  TO  NEW  LABYRINTHS.         177 

"Fegs!  If  it  should  be  them,  now,  that  Lord  Rawdon  res 
cued  r 

Here  he  repeated  the  i.arrative  of  the  adventure,  as  delivered 
to  him  by  Benny  Bowlegs. 

«It  is — it  must  bo  they.  There. can  be  no  other.  A  girl 
wounded,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  not  one  of  the  party." 

We  must  now  suppose  that  Ballou  went  over  all  the  details 
even  as  they  are  known  to  us. 

"  And  Rawdon,  with  a  hundred  men,  id  even  now  at  the 
Barony." 

"  Was  yesterday." 

"  Oh  !  that  St.  Julien  were  here.  I  have  but  thirty  men  with 
me.  I  must  send  to  him.  If  we  can  strike  Inglehardt,  rescue 
Travis  and  Henry,  then  unite  with  him ;  and  dash  down  upon 
the  Barony.  But  no!  no!  How  divide  myself ?  What  is  to 
be  done  ?  If  I  pursue  Bertha  and  her  mother,  we  lose  the 
chance  at  Inglehardt.  He  may  leave  the  Castle  ;  and  if  we  go 
thither  we  may  lose  them." 

The  subject  was  one  to  annoy,  with  its  dilemmas,  an  older 
soldier. 

"  And  where's  Captain  St.  Julien  now,  colonel  ?" 

"  Scouring  the  neighborhood  of  Belleville.  He  went  off  only 
yesterday.  We  have  both  been  daily  on  the  road,  almost  night 
and  day,  ever  since  I  left  you." 

"  All  owing  to  your  not  taking  tracks  of  the  carriage  at  first." 

"  But  we  did." 

"  Well,  a  carriage  is  not  so  easy  to  hide.  You  couldn't  have 
taken  the  right  track  or  you'd  have  found  it.  How  was  it,  and 
where,  colonel  ?" 

Sinclair  described  it,  tbe  region. 

"  I  know  it  like  my  prayers.  I  can  see  how  'twas.  Yor- 
lidn't  see  whether  there  was  any  blind  trail  through  the 
iwamp.  The  old  causeway  at  the  mill's  broken  up,  not  passa 
ble  for  a  carnage,  and  most  like  there's  another  through  the 
swamp,  which  they  could  easily  cross  in  this  dry  season." 

"But  we  tracked  the  carriage  back  into  the  road." 

"Ah!  did  you?     That's  the  question,  and  if  you  did, 
".yae;  did  H  keep  the  main  track,  and  did  it  go  up  or  down  ?" 


178  EUTAW. 

"Up!  We  tracked  tlie  wheels  obliquely  upward  Into  the 
road;  saw  the  marks  plainly." 

"  Yes ;  but  did  you  see  whether  the  track  was  of  the  carriage 
going  forward  or  backward  ?" 

"  No !  we  never  thought  of  that." 

"  Ah  !  that  was  the  first  thing.  It's  a  very  easy  trick  these 
fellows  played  on  you." 

"  But  how  could  you  have  found  it  out  ?" 

"  Easy  enough.  You  follow  the  track  of  the  wheels  going 
into  the  woods.  Well,  did  you  follow  any  circuit,  any  sweep 
wide  enough  to  show  the  gradual  turning  of  the  horses,  when 
they  came  out '?  Did  you  see  that  it  wa'n't  a  short  turn,  so" — 
and  here  he  described  the  sort  of  figure  upon  the  ground  — 
"pretty  sharp  —  too  sharp  for  a  fair  turn  of  the  carriage? 
Don't  you  see  that,  if  you  drive  a  vehicle  into  this  or  that  wood, 
and  you  want  to  wheel  out,  and  get  back  into  the  road  again, 
you  require  space  enough  for  a  sweep  like  this  1"  Hero  he 
drew  another  figure.  "  Now,  suppose  these  fellows  wanted  to 
cheat  you  into  the  notion  that  they  were  going  up  the  road 
when,  in  fact,  they  were  going  down,  they  had  only  to  back  the 
carriage  into  the  upward  course.  To  tell  if  they  did  this,  you 
had  to  see  whether  a  turn  was  made,  how  much,  and  whether  it 
wasn't,  in  fact,  a  pretty  sharp  angle,  so"  —  here  another  figure 
in  the  sand  —  "then  you  watch  the  course  of  the  wheels,  which, 
in  backing,  will  always  run  crooked,  manage  as  you  will,  and 
scrape  against  the  trees  here  and  there,  one  side  or  the  other." 

But  Ballou's  explanations  are  a  few  days  too  late. 

"  I  see  it  now,"  said  Sinclair.  "  Ah  !  if  you  had  been  with  us. 
But  it's  not  too  late.  We  must  push  doAvii  after  them  now." 

"  But  what  about  the  captain  and  Master  Henry  ?" 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  trouble  again.  There's  but  one  course.  I 
will  send  off  to  St.  Julien  at  once,  and  appoint  a  rendezvous  at 
lord's  — three  miles  below  the  barony.  I  will  warn  him  of 
Bawdon's  presence  there,  and  his  numbers,  though,  I  fancy,  he 
will  be  gone  below  before  we  can  reach  him.  It  is  an  even 
chance  that  he  falls  into  Sumter's  hands.  He  is  probably  push 
ing  down  to  see  to  his  posts  at  Eutaw,  Wantoot,  Monk's  Corner, 
and  other  places,  and  he  looks  upon  us,  as  all  beyoi,7  the 
Watcree  with  Greene.  We  may  catch  him.  If  St.  Julien  geto 


OLTJ   TRAILS   TO    NEW   LABYRINTH?.  ITS 

to  the  rendezvous  in  season,  we  may  make  a  glorious  clash  at 
his  lordship.  We  can  bring  seventy  tried  troopers,  on  the  best 
horses,  into  the  field  against  his  hundred.  Now  while  St.  Julien- 
is  pushing  down  to  this  rendezvous,  I  will  strike  directly  across 
the  country  to  the  Four-Holes,  overhaul  'Bram's  Castle,  and, 
whether  we  find  Tnglehardt  or  not,  push  immediately  after  to 
the  rendezvous.  This  will  bring  us  both  upon  the  track  of  the 
ladies,  who  are  no  doubt  pushing  for  Nelson's  ferry.  If  they 
have  luck,  they  can  get  there  before  we  can  possibly  reach  the 
rendezvous.  If  not,  we  will  be  at  hand  to  give  them  any  sucoor 
which  they  may  need,  and  see  them  safely  across  the  river  " 

"  That's  the  plan,  major.     I  see  no  other  way  you  can  fix  it," 

The  preparations  were  soon  made.  The  despatch  was  s?nt  off 
to  St.  Julien,  and  an  hour  before  day  next  morning,  the  troop 
of  Sinclair  was  pushing,  at  a  trot,  through  the  woods  in  the  re 
quired  direction. 

But  the  first  act  in  the  performance  was  a  failure.  They 
found  the  nest,  but  the  birds  were  flown.  'Brain's  Castle  had 
not  had  a  tenant  for  several  days.  So  far,  then,  as  Captain 
Travis  and  Henry  were  involved,  the  scouts  were  at  soa  again  ; 
and  while  Ballon  was  left  to  take  the  tracks  of  Inglehardt,  if  he 
could  find  them,  Sinclair  turned  about  and  pushed  for  the  place 
of  rendezvous. 

What,  meanwhile,  of  Inglehardt  and  his  captives  ? 

The  very  morning  after  the  night  when  Ballou  took  his  do 
parture  from  'Bram's  Castle,  Dick  of  Tophet  departed  also.  A 
long  conference  with  Inglehardt  enabled  the  two  to  lay  theii 
plans  for  the  future.  Dick  departed,  and  was  absent  the  better 
part  of  two  days.  With  the  night  &f  the  second  he  returned 
bringing  with  him  a  new  follower  —  a  scoundrel  of  his  own 
livery  whom  he  had  known  before. 

"All  right — -.all  ready,  cappin,"  said  Dick,  "and  the  sooner 
we  set  out  the  better.  We  kin  start  afore  day." 

The  two  conferred  together.  And  a  little  after  midnight, 
Captain  Travis  was  aroused  by  his  captor. 

"  Get  up,  Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt,  in  his  sweetest 
accents,  "I  must  trouble  you  to  rise.  You  health  suffers  from 
this  confinement.  I  must  give  you  some  exercise  and  fresh  air." 

The  manacled  man  raised  himself  ur.  in  his  straw,  and  said  ; — 


180  EUTA     . 

"  What  would  you  with  me  now  V 

"  1  would  have  you  ride  a  pace  with  me  ?" 

"  Where  is  my  son  ?" 

"  He  is  still  in  the  safe  keeping  of  that  excellent  person,  Joe) 
Andrews,  whom  they  call  Hell-fire  Dick," 

"  Am  I  not  to  see  him  ?" 

"  You  will  see  him  as  we  ride.  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose 
'Jiat  Andrews  will  deny  you  this  ^privilege." 

"  Captain  Inglehardt,  why  persevere  in  this  idle  mockery  ? 
Why  talk  to  me  of  this  ruffian  having  rights  over  my  son,  or 
power  against  your  will,  in  respect  to  his  keeping  ?  What  good 
can  accrue  to  you  from  this  cruelty  —  this  most  wanton  and 
profitless  cruelty  ?" 

"  Nay,  Captain  Travis,  it  is  evident  that  you  are  in  no  con 
dition  for  argument,  or  you  would  scarcely  fail  to  see  that  it  is 
not  profitless.  You  will  grow  wiser  after  awhile,  and  we  will 
then  confer  upon  the  subject.  It  lies  with  you,  sir,  at  any 
moment,  to  release  you*.  :cn  from  captivity,  and  obtain  your 
own  r^ase." 

"  7I,i.  by  what  sacrifice  1     Never  !  never  !" 

"  Ah  !  well !  I  said  you  were  in  no  proper  condition  for  ar 
gument.  But  rise,  sir,  and  let  us  travel." 

"  Suppose  I  will  not." 

"  That  would  be  unwise,  captain,  since  it  will  avail  you  noth 
ing —  and  only  compel  us  to  hard  usage." 

"  Hard  usage  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Hitherto,  I  am  to  suppose 
that  your  usage  has  been  tender.  Why,  sir,  I  am  half  starved." 

"  That,  I  am  sorry  to  think,  is  the  condition  of  the  army  com 
missaries  themselves  everywhere.  It  is  not  easy  to  command 
supplies  in  this  quarter,  and  for  this,  among  other  reasons,  we 
are  about  to  remove." 

•*  I  shall  see  my  son  ?" 

"  Yes !  yes  !  you  shall  see  him.     He  travels  with  us." 

"  My  boy,  my  poor  boy  !"  murmured  the  father,  as  he  raised 
•:imself  up  from  his  straw,  and  prepared  to  submit  quietly  to 
.no  commands  of  the  petty  despot. 

A  torch  was  held  at  the  door  of  the  hovel,  by  the  new  recruit; 
whose  name  \vas  Halliday,  The  horses  had  been  already  sad 
dled  and  brought  forth.  They  stood  without  in  waiting.  A 


OLD   TRAILS   TO    NEW    LABYRINTHS.  131 

pile  of  lightwood  burned  brightly  on  an  open  place  of  the  hair, 
mock.     Captain  Travis  saw  at  a  little  distance,  as  lie  came  out 
of  the  cabin,  a  group  of  three  or  four  persons.     From  among 
these  he  heard  the  voice  of  Henry : — 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?     You  said  that  I  should  see  him." 

The  voice  of  the  boy  seemed  to  the  ears  of  the  father  at  onco 
hoarse  and  feeble.  They  had  not  been  allowed  to  see  each 
•/ther  since  that  night  when  we  beheld  them  separated.  The 
father,  conscious  of  the  treatment  he  had  himself  received,  trem 
bled  to  think  of  that  of  his  son.  He  cried  out  to  him,  advanced, 
and  would  have  hurried  to  where  he  stood,  but  that  Inglehardt 
interposed. 

"  Nay,  Captain  Travis,  they  will  bring  the  boy  to  you." 

But  Travis  did  not  seem  to  heed.  Ho  went  forward  and  met 
the  boy  approaching.  The  latter  iio  longer  wore  his  handcuffs, 
and  he  rushed  to  his  father  throwing  his  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  sobbing.  Neither  could  speak  for  awhile,  but  their  tears 
mingled,  and  their  sobs.  Inglehardt  looked  on  with  compla 
cency  or  indifference,  as  he  beheld  their  sorrows.  They  were 
not  of  a  sort  to  touch  his  cold  and  selfish  nature.  In  the  bright 
light  of  the  fire,  Travis  saw  that  his  son  must  have  suffered  like 
himself.  His  eye  was  spiritless,  his  limbs  appeared  feeble,  his 
cheek  was  wan.  When  he  spoke,  he  confirmed  all  his  father's 
fears. 

"  Oh  !  my  father,"  he  cried,  "  they  have  starved  me." 

"  My  boy !  my  poor  boy!"  were  the  sobbing  utterances  of 
the  father.  "0  God!"  he  cried  aloud  —  "dost  thou  look 
down  and  suffer  this  cruelty  !  Captain  Inglehardt  have  you 
anything  of  a  human  heart  in  your  -bosom  ?" 

"  Not  much,  my  dear  Travis,  not  much.  What  there  is  of  it, 
has  been  closed  to  all  pleading  save  that  of  your  daughter." 

"  And  do  you  hope  to  please  her  by  subjecting  her  only  broth 
er  to  torture  1" 

"  My  hope  is  not  to  please  her  at  all,  my  dear  captain.  You 
yourself  have  taught  me  to  despair  of  any  such  h^pe.  My  hope 
is  to  persuade  her,  captain,  only  to  persuade — " 

"  Compel,  you  mean." 

"  Well,  if  you  prefer  the  phrase ;  but  dealing  with  young  dam 
sels  of  condition,  my  dear  CA.pta.iif.  ::  '  MHO  that  I  dare  not  use." 


182  EUTAW. 

"  Oli !  would  you  were  less  daring  in  more  substantial  mat- 
*.crs.  Mail !  man !  if  you  be  such,  and  not  a  devil,  how  can 
you  dare  such  inhumanity  as  this !  To  starve  a  boy  like  this." 

"  He  ain't  starved  at  all,"  put  in  Dick  of  Tophet  —  "  only  on 
short  'lowancc,  that's  all.  We  gives  him  a  good-sized  hoecak? 
s  day,  and  any  quantity  of  water.  We  don't  'lowance  him  in 
the  water." 

"And  look  here,  father,  at  my  wrists,"  said  the  boy,  holding 
up  his  hands,  and  showing  the  abrasion  and  sores  upon  V.-j 
wrists,  the  effect  of  the  handcuffs. 

"  God  of  Heaven  !     Have  they  tortured  you  thus,  my  child  ''" 

"  'Tain't  no  torture,"  cried  Dick  of  Tophet ;  ."  'tis  only  that 
the  handcuffs  was  a  leetle  too  tight.  Ef  you  had  known  what 
it  was  to  be  scorching  over  lightwood  blazes  for  hafe  an  hour, 
to  git  yourself  out  of  a  hitch, then  you  might  talk  of  torture." 

"  Wretch  !  you  will  suffer  in  hell's  blazes  for  this,  you  and 
your  master,"  cried  Travis. 

"  Come  !  come  !  Don't  be  impudent,  cappin,  or  it'll  be  only 
Che  worse  for  you.  But  we  hain't  got  time  for  talking,  Cappin 
Inglehardt.  We're  all  ready  for  a  mount." 

The  boy  was  put  upion  a  horse ;  the  father  was  helped  upon 
another ;  they  had  companions  each,  ready  with  sword  and  pis 
tol,  and  Inglehardt  followed  up  the  procession.  In  twenty  min 
utes  they  had  disappeared  from  'Bram's  Castle,  moving  across  the 
country  toward  that  region  of  interminable  swamp  and  thicket 
which  lies  about  the  first  springs  and  heads  of  Cooper  river  — 
iiear  the  line  which  subsequently  marked  the  route  of  the  canal, 
by  which  the  waters  of  the  Santee  and  the  Cooper  have  been 
united.  This  extensive  range  of  flat  country  is  everywhere  in 
tersected  by  streams  and  swamps,  offering  retreats  almost  inac 
cessible  in  that  early  day  to  any  footstep  save  that  of  the  veteran 
hunter.  The  Revolution,  with  its  terrible  necessities,  soon 
taught  the  value  of  these  retreats  to  the  wandering  patriot 
They  unluckily  yielded  a  similar  security  to  the  marauder  and 
the  outlaw.  Families,  driven  from  their  ancient  homesteads 
disappeared  wholly  from  sight  in  fastnesses  of  this  description, 
and  found  hammocks  and  little  islets,  buried  in  wildernesses  of 
swamp  forest,  within  a  few  miles  of  the  very  homes  which  they 
had  been  compelled  to  fly.  They  could  see,  frequently,  fron« 


OLD   TRAILS   TO    NEW    LAIJVIIlXTIiS.  188 

their  hiding-places,  the  smokes  of  their  enemies'  fires,  rising  from 
their  own  patriarchal  hearths.  Sometimes,  a  dense  swamp 
thicket,  only  a  hundred  yards  wide,  separated  the  fugitives  from 
a  British  post,  such  as  Watboo  and  Wantoot.  These  places  of 
refuge  were  wonderfully  secure.  Their  approaches  were  so  many 
webs  of  Arachne.  Their  avenues  might  be  likened  to  those 
:>f  the  Egyptian  or  Cretan  labyrinths.  Dark  mystical  woods, 
ieep  dismal  waters,  creek  and  thicket,  fen,  bog,  quagmire,  and 
stream,  all  seemed  to  blend  harmoniously  in  shutting  out  humani 
ty  with  the  sun  of  heaven  and  the  breezes  of  the  air.  The  stars 
trembled  when  they  looked  down  into  abysses  which  they 
dared  not  penetrate.  The  winds  flung  themselves  feebly 
against  the  matted  walls  of  forest.  The  waters  crept  sluggishly 
and  stagnated  everywhere.  It  was  a  realm  that  seemed  conse 
crated  to  death.  Here  the  owl  and  bat  had  their  homes ;  the 
serpent  and  the  cayman  ;  the  frog  and  the  lizzard.  Its  terrors, 
and  glooms,  and  difficulties,  constituted  the  guaranties  of  safety, 
on  which  the  fugitive,  patriot,  and  outlaw,  could  most  confidently 
rely.  And  in  thousands  of  such  regions  they  reared  their  rug 
ged  cabins  of  logs,  the  crevices  filled  with  clay;  fires  were  made 
in  clay  chimneys,  and  never  a  window  gave  light  to  the  hovel. 
For  better  security,  these  cabins  were  made  with  moveable  logs, 
and  trap  doors,  leading  beneath  the  house,  as 'described  already 
in  the  dens  where  the  Travis's  were  kept  captives.  And  where 
streams  were  at  hand,  the  traps  sometimes  opened  above  a 
water-course,  and  canoes  of  cypress  were  kept  conveniently  be 
low,  for  the  escape  of  the  fugitive  by  the  creek,  when  the  ave 
nues  above  were  watched  by  the  enemy. 

It  was  in  such  a  province  as  this,  that  Inglehardt  found  a  new 
hiding-place  for  his  captives.  The  place  was  an  old  refuge  of 
Dick  of  Tophet,  and  a  good  deal  of  art  was  employed  in  increas 
ing  its  securities.  There  were  several  little  hammocky  ridges 
that  rose  out  of  the  swamp  neay  each  other,  on  each  of  which 
was  one  or  more  cabins.  There  were  secret  methods  for  keep 
ing  up  the  intercourse  between  them,  and  the  little  creeks  that 
ran  between  the  hammocks  was  all  more  or  less  employed  in  the 
general  design  which  had  converted  the  fastness  into  a  fortress 
'-at  least  a  labyrinth. 
Dick  of  Tophet  knew  the  region  thoroughly,  It  was  his  cas< 


184  EUTAYf 

tie.  And  here,  through  his  agency,  we  fin  i  several  of  ou.  ola 
acquaintances.  Here,  in  one  of  the  cabins  the  one  nearest  the 
highland,  we  discover,  as  inmate,  the  venerable  Mrs.  Blodgit, 
an  ancient  rheumatic  and  sinner ;  and  her  son,  Pete  Blodgit, 
something  of  a  cripple,  and  something  more  of  a  scamp.  In  an 
other  of  the  dens  we  discover  two  gallows-birds,  of  the  \vorst 
color,  one  of  them  rejoicing  in  the  descriptive  title  of  "  Skin  the- 
Sarpent" — or,  for  brevity,  "The  Sarpent" — the  other  content 
with  the  less  ambitious  name  of  Ben  Nelson.  Each  of  these 
parties  was  fairly  individualized  by  his  vices,  whiib  included 
as  many  deadly  sins  as  the  church  calendars  deem  fit  to  describe 
in  black  letter.  They  were  a  haggard,  wretched,  scowling,  reck 
less  set,  the  whole  of  them,  branded  with  lust  and  murder,  gaming, 
drinking,  cheating,  lying,  without  even  the  rogue's  virtue,  of 
keeping  faith  with  one  another  !  They  were  all  fit  followers  for 
such  a  wretch  as  Hell-fire  Dick,  and  for  such  uses  as  were  need 
ed  to  the  policy  of  Richard  Inglehardt,  captain  of  loyalists, 
&c.,  in  the  service  of  his  Britannic  majesty. 

"He's  come!"  said  Pete  Blodgit,  that  night,  as  he  entered 
the  cabin  of  himself  and  mother. 

""Who's  come?" 

"  Why,  the  new  cappin,  Inglehardt.     He's  come." 

"  Well,  and  what's  the  good  of  his  coming,  Pete  Blodgit,  to 
you  or  to  me,  so  long  as  you  keeps  the  poor,  mean-sperrited 
critter  and  fool  that  you've  always  been  1  That's  what  I  wants 
to  know  !  Here's  me,  a  poor  old  critter,  broke  down  with  the 
rheumatiz,  and  hardly  able  to  git  in  and  out  of  the  bed ;  and 
thar's  yourself,  a  cripple,  and  not  able  to  hold  a  plough,  or  do 
nothing  manful,  I  may  say  :  and  yit,  though  you  sees  how  we 
stands,  poor,  and  lame,  and  rheumatic,  and  mean-sperrited,  yit 
you  lets  slip  every  chaince  you  gits  of  featl  ering  our  nests  com 
fortably  agin  old  age  and  bad  weather.  1  feels  old  age  a-be- 
gimiing  to  creep  'pon  me,  and  I  reckon  it  won't  be  twenty  years 
before  I'm  broke  down  quite,  and  not  fit  for  nothing !" 

The  old  hag  was  already  nearly  seventy,  but  with  a  natural 
dislike  to  the  idea  of  age,  except  as  a  very  remote  possibility. 

"  Now,  ef  you,  Pete,  don't  change  in  your  ways,  and  pick  up 
a  leetle  more  gumption  and  sperrit,  what's  the  use  to  us  ef  there 
is  a  now  cappin  '?  Have  y  ;u  seed  him  ?  Is  he  worth  picking  t 


OLD    TRAILS    TO    NEW    LABfRINTHS.  lOO 

IB  ihar  anything  to  pick?  Is  lie  sa.fi  1  Will  he  let  you?  —  ftp- 
I  reckon  you  don't  want  to  be  told,  at  this  late  time  in  the  day, 
that  the  world's  given  to  us  poor  critters,  to  make  the  most  we 
kin  out  of  it  —  to  pick  wliar  we  kin,  and  strip  whar  we  kin,  and 
carry  off  all  we  kin !  Now,  is  you  guine  to  do  any  better  than 
when  Major  Willie  had  you  —  when  you  let  him  strip  you  of 
that  same  hundred  goulden  guineas  —  yis,  after  you  had  'em  all 
fast  hid  away,  as  you  thought  —  sich  hiding!  —  strip  you  to  the 
skin,  when  we  mout  ha'  run  for  it  afore  he  come ;  or,  when  he 
did  come,  worked  a  button-hole  in  his  buzzom  with  a  pistol  or 
a  knife ;  and  you  did  nothing,  but  gin  up  all,  like  a  sheep  guine 
to  the  slaughter;  so  that,  when  he  was  driv  off,  we  hadn't  but 
the  clothes  on  our  backs,  I  may  say,  and  a  poor  twenty-odd 
Spanish  dollars  —  and  got  nothing  for  all  our  hard  sarvice  with 
the  Sinclairs,  but  curses,  and  starvation,  and  poor  poverty  !" 

"Oh,  psho,  mother!  we  got  a  living  —  we  got  a  house  over 
our  heads>  and  w.e  got  a  plenty  of  bread  and  meat,  and  as  much 
clothes  as  we  wanted,  and  had  eggs,  and  chickens,  and  pigs ; 
and  brought  off  the 'dollars,  and  a  little  gould  besides,  and  other 
pickings." 

"  Oh,  you  mean-sperrited  person  !  —  as  ef  these  things,  bread, 
;nd  meat,  and  clothes,  was  enough  to  pay  us  for  wearing  out  to 
>ld  age  in  their  sarvice." 

'-  Psho,  mother,  you  had  nothing  to  do,  you  know  !  And  you 
brgit — you  brought  off  the  nigger-gal  that  Willie  Sinclair  lent 
you." 

"And  what's  the  good  of  her,  I  wants  to  know — a  mean, 
'azy,  sleepy-head,  and,  I'm  jubous,  a  runaway?  I'm  sure  she 
lin't  worth  the  salt  to  her  hom'ny." 

"  Well,  they'll  be  after  her,  I  reckon,  some  of  these  days." 

"  And  you  don't  think  I'm  guine  to  give  her  up,  do  you  ?" 

Imost  screamed  the  old  woman.     "  How  kin  I  do  without  her, 

j.  wants  to  know,  ^.nd  I  so  lame  with  the  rheumatiz  I  kin  do 

nothing  for  myself?     Sooner  than  give  her  up,  I'd  dig  he*  heart 

out  with  a  knife  —  I  would  !" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  so  long  as  we  keeps  her  out  of  sight,  we 
sha'n't  lose  l.er.  And  I  don't  see  what  you  hev'  to  growl  about 
now.  We're  in  the  dry  ;  we've  got  a  plenty  to  eat,  and  some- 
hiiig  to  drink,  and  clothes,  and  everything  we  wants." 


186  KUTA.V. 

"  But  w liar's  the  money,  Pete  ?  We  ain't  a-gitting  that,  and 
so  long  as  you're  a-sarving  that  Hell-fire  Dick,  he'll  never  le 
you  hev  a  chaince  at  the  money.  Now,  thar  was  a  chaincf 
with  Major  Willie." 

"  A}',  but  we  wor'n  t  content  with  it.  We  was  wolf-greedy, 
mother,  and  made  too  much  of  the  chaince.  We  was  for  getting 
on  too  faist." 

"  Well,  will  you  do  any  better  with  the  new  cappin  ?  Kin 
you  play  him  sly,  Pete  ?  Is  there  any  pickings,  boy,  that  yon 
kin  get  at?  —  for  the  food,  and  house,  and  clothing,  ain't  enough 
except  for  to-day.  We  must  put  by  for  to-morrow;  and  the 
gould  guineas  are  the  best  to  keep,  and  after  them  the  silver 
dollars.  Now,  don't  you  be  a  fool,  Pete !  Hev  an  eye  in  youi 
head,  and  don't  be  mealy-mouthed  for  the  axing,  and  don't  be 
slow-fingered  for  the  taking,  and  larn  to  keep  and  hide  what 
you  gits,  and  let  me  hide  it  for  you.  I  reckon  'twon't  be  me 
that'll  be  making  a  hiding-place  of  the  post  in-the  stable." 

"  I  wonder  how  the  major  ever  come  to  know  of  that  ?" 

"  Ah  !  you'd  been  a-poking  at  it,  and  a-counting  the  guinea:-, 
Pete,  when  somebody's  been  looking  through  the  chinks.  That's 
the  how." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  what's  a-coming.  Here  we  is ;  there  s 
a  house  over  us,  and  we've  got  corn  and  bacon  a  plenty,  and  T 
reckon  there's  some  chaince  for  us,  sence  Devil  Dick  says  you'ro 
to  keep  a  prisoner,  and  I'm  to  be  his  keeper." 

"Ha!  is  that  it?  Well,  we'll  see,  Pete.  Ef  the  cappin  — 
what  do  you  call  him  ? — " 

"  Cappin  Inglehardt." 

"  Ef  he's  not  the  thing,  why,  it's  like  the  prisoner  is,  may  be ; 
so,  either  way,  Pete,  there's  pickings  to  them  that  ain't  too  sap- 
headed  and  too  slow.  Jest  you  listen  to  me  always,  Pete,  and 
I'll  show  you  how  to  feather  the  nest." 

That  very  night,  Henry  Travis  was  quartered  upon  this  ami 
able  couple,  in  a  close  room,  ten  by  twelve,  of  solid  logs,  with 
out  a  window,  and  with  a  door  that  opened  into  the  room  of 
Pete  Blodgit  himself.  A  third  room,  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  house  to  that  occupied  by  Henry,  was  the  den  of  the  old 
woman. 

"  JTou're  to  keep  him  safe,  Pete  Blodgit,"  said  Dick  of  Tophei 


OLD    TRAILS   TO    NEW    LABYRINTHS.  187 

That's  your  business.     See  to  it.     Ef  he  escapes,  it's  as  much 
as  your  neck's  worth  !" 

This  was  said  in  the  presence  of  the  old  woman.  She  was 
on  the  point  of  asking,  "  But  what's  the  pay  for  the  trouble  ?" 
—  when  a  prudential  scruple  suggested  to  her  that,  perhaps,  at 
the  very  opening  of  the  business,  the  question  might  be  prema 
ture.  Besides,  she  had  a  better  faith  in  the  "  pickings"  than  in 
any  vulgar  contract,  implying  the  mere  quid  pro  quo.  The  boy 
was  locked  in  his  den,  and  Devil  Dick  then  drew  Pete  out,  to 
communicate  to  him  more  privately  the  instructions  which  he 
wished  followed.  These  were  all  subsequently  retailed  to  the 
amiable,  rheumatic  mother. 

A  similar  den,  on  a  distinct  hammock,  some  forty  yards  dis 
tant —  a  creeik  running  between  —  received  Captain  Travis.  In 
the  house  with  him,  though  occupying  distinct  apartments,  of 
which  Travis  knew  nothing,  Inglehardt  took  up  his  lodgings  — 
temporarily,  it  would  seem,  for  he  was  off  the  very  next  morn 
ing,  on  his  route  to  Orangeburg.  A  long  conference  with  Dick 
of  Tophet  adjusted  the  duties  of  that  notable  personage,  and 
instructed  him  in  respect  to  the  performances  which  were  re 
quired  at  his  hands,  during  the  absence  of  his  superior.  These 
did  not  sink  the  adventurous  Dick  into  a  jailer.  For  this  oflice 
there  were  other  parties  — "  Skin-the-Sarpent,"  Ben  Nelson, 
"The  Trailer"  Brunson,  and  Jack  Halliday  —  to  say  nothing 
of  the  redoubtable  Pete  Blodgit.  These,  with  the  exception 
of  the  last,  had  a  cabin  to  themselves,  on  the  same  hammock 
with  that  of  Pete,  and  Dick  of  Tophet  found  his  quarters,  as 
he  phrased  it  himself,  "  promiscus"  with  these.  Their  duties 
done  for  the  day,  the  prisoners  all  secure,  supper  got  ready,  this 
interesting  group  assembled  in  their  quarters,  resolved,  after  the 
example  of  more  elegant  blackguards,  "  to  make  a  night  of  it." 
Cards  and  drink  were  both  produced,  the  latter  in  abundance ; 
and,  as  all  of  them  seemed  to  be  in  unusual  funds,  they  were  all 
unusually  merry. 

And  as  they  played,  and  lost  or  won,  and  drank,  they  con 
versed  about  their  past  adventures. 

"  You  couldn't  git  a  chaince  at  the  barony  of  old  Sinclair, 
'Sarpent,"  said  Dick,  "  though  I  left  you  in  a  fair  way  for  it 


1£3  EUTATC 

I  thought  you'd  ha'  gutted  it.  1  here's  fine  pickm's  there, 
Sarpent." 

"Yes;  but  you  knovr'd  pretty  well,  Dick,  that  the  ehaince 
was  gone  a'ter  S^  Julien  and  his  troopers  come  upon  the  ground. 
Why,  they  scattered  themselves  cverywhar,  and  we  could  !•  irclly 
stir  without  showing  a  limb  to  a  pistol-shot.  We  did  snake  up 
to  the  grounds  at  last,  but  even  the  niggers  had  we'pons,  and 
war'  on  the  lookout  at  every  fence-corner." 

"Psho.l-  you  was  skeary,  that's  all.  You  bad  such  a  fright 
in  that  one  skrimmage  with  Sinclair,  that  it  sweated  all  the 
sperrit  out  of  you/' 

"  Well,  I  reckon  that  did  hev  something  to  do  with  it." 

"  Them  niggers  that  you  thought  was  on  the  watch,  with 
we'pons,  they  war'n't  nothing  but  old  black  field-stumps." 

"  Stumps  !  I  had  one  of  'em  to  crack  at  me  at  forty  yards, 
and  felt  the  shot  whistle  by  my  ears  mighty  close.  It  was  time 
to  be  off  when  tbe  very  old  stumps  was  able  to  draw  so  close  a 
bead  upon  my  whiskers." 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  much  in  niggers'  shooting.  But  ef 
they  was  so  keen  on  the  watch  as  that,  I  reckon  the  chaince 
was  gone.  But  ef  there  was  no  sodgers  about  —  none  of  them 
slashing  dragoons  of  St.  Julien  —  T  reckon  the  niggers  might 
ha'  been  bottled  up  to  keep  or  laid  out  to  dry.  I'd  ha'  tried  it, 
by  the  hokies." 

"  But  there  was  dragoons  about,  though  we  didn't  know  it  at 
the  time." 

"Oh!  you  was  skear'd.  —  There's  an  ace,  Ben.  Give  us 
that  Jack." 

"  Skear'd  !  Well,  it's  you  that  says  it.  But,  what  better 
did  you  do?  You  went  a'ter  Sinclair's  hundred  guineas — '' 

"  And  his  heart's  blood  too,  blast  him  !" 

"  Did  you  git  the  blood  ?  —  did  you  git  the  guineas  ?  Ef  you 
did,  fork  up  our  havings,  old  Satan,  for  we  goes  shares  in  the 
pickings." 

All !  you  hev  me  thar !  Nather  blood  nor  guineas,  and  I 
come  pretty  nigh  to  losing  my  own  skelp  on  the  ;  Mirney.  It 
turned  out  a  lean  cow.  Couldn't  git  a  steak  off  hei  ribs." 

"  Thar  it  is  '  So  don't  talk  about  our  skear.  Think  of  yout 
own." 


OLD    TRAILS   TO    NEW   LABYRINTHS.  ISO 

i(  I  hail  no  skear.  And  cf  Cappin  Inglehardt  Lad  a  left  the 
business  to  me,  we  might  ha'  rolled  up  Sinclair,  and  had  the 
pickin's  of  as  rich  a  place  as  the  barony,  I  reckon.  But  he  had. 
his  own  sarcumventions,  and  that  spiled  the  chainces.  I  had 
hard  work,  Sarpent.  to  heel  it  in  that  skrimmage." 

"  Thunder !  it's  hard  work  everyhow,  and  hafe  the  time  not 
even  feeding.  I've  heen  pretty  nigh  to  starvation  more  than 
once  sence  you  left  us.  We  three  hadn't  for  the  whole  of  us 
more  than  enough  grub  for  a  single  man,  and  that  for  a  whole 
week,  besides  having  to  run,  and  skulk,  and  burrow,  for  dear 
life,  a  matter  of  a  dozen  times.  It's  hard  work  this  gitting  an 
honest  living." 

"  Or  a  living  anyhow  !"  quoth  the  Trailer. 

"Yes!"  putting  in  Dick,  quite  solemnly  —  "it's  worried  me 
to  think  how  it  is,  that  working,  and  riding,  and  fighting  as  we 
does,  thyar's  no  gitting  on  —  no  putting  up  —  no  comforting 
sitivations,  where  a  man  could  lie  down  and  be  sure  of  good 
quarters,  and  enough  to  eat  for  a  week  ahead.  What's  it  owing 
to  ?  Here,  we  had  the  fairest  chaince  at  Willie  Sinclair  with 
them  guineas,  and  we  lost  'em  ;  and  that  lame  chicken,  Pete 
Blodgit,  had  them  guineas  in  his  own  hands,  and  we  had  him 
in  our  hands,  and  we  lost  'em ; —  and  thar  I  had  old  Sinclair  in 
a  fix,  safe  as  pitch,  and  I  lost"  him,  and  had  to  scorch  myself 
over  the  fire  to  git  away  from  my  own  hitch.  And  old  Sinclair's 
rich  as  a  Jew  —  as  twenty  Jews  —  and  his  son's  rich  ;  and  this 
Cappin  Travis  here  is  rich ;  arid  I  reckon  Cappin  Inglehardt's 
rich.  Ef  he  ain't,  he  lives  jest  the  same.  Now,  what  makes 
the  difference  twixt  us  and  all  these  rich  people.  How's  it, 
that  whatever  we  does  turns  out  nothing,  and  they  seem  to  git 
at  every  turning  in  the  road.  We  works  more  than  they,  and 
we  has  all  the  resks,  and  trouble,  and  danger ;  yet  nothing 
comes  from  it,  and  by  blazes,  I'm  jest  as  poor  a  critter  this  day, 
as  the  day  I  begun,  and  something  poorer;  and  I'm  now  past 
forty.  And  it's  so,  jest  with  all  of  you  fellows.  Now,  what's  it 
owing  to,  all  this  difference  ]  'Tain't  bekaise  we're  bad,  and 
they  good;  for  this  Cappin  Travis  is  a  rogue,  I  know ;  and  our 
Cappin  Inglehardt  —  ef  he  ain't  akin  to  the  old  black  devil  him 
self,  then  the  old  black  devil  ain't  got  no  family  at  all,  and  no 
connections  " 


190  EUTAW. 

The  problem  was  one  to  weary  wiser  heads  than  Hell-fire 
Dick's. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  Sarpent.  "  It's  all  owing  to  the 
books.  It's  the  cdicatiun,  Dick." 

"Books,"  said  Dick  of  Tophet,  musing.  "May  be  so. 
When  we  consider,  boys,  that  books  hev  in  'em  all  the  thinking 
and  writing  of  the  wise  people  that  hev  lived  ever  sence  the 
world  begun,  it  stands  to  reason  that  them  that  kin  read  has  a. 
chaince  over  anything  we  kin  ever  hev.  I  never  thought  of 
that.  And  then  you  see  how  many  thousand  things  these  books 
tell  about,  that  we  never  hear  people  talk  about.  For,  look  you. 
Sarpent,  and  you,  Trailer,  when  we  meets  and  talks,  what's 
it  ?  Only  jest  them  things  that  consarn  the  business  that  we're 
upon.  Now,  that  business  we  know  by  heart.  You  kain't  teach 
me  how  to  gut  a  house,  or  cut  a  throat,  or  drill  a  squad,  and 
whoop,  and  shoot,  and  strike,  and  stick,  when  there's  a  fight 
guine  on.  And  I  kain't  teach  you  how  to  take  a  trail,  or  make 
a  sarcumvention  in  the  woods.  And  we  all  knows  seven  up  by 
heart;  and  we  knows  how  to  swallow  Jimmaker  without  wink 
ing,  one  man  no  more  skilful  at  it  than  another ;  and  that's 
pretty  much  all  we  does  know.  But  them  books  knows  every 
thing —  all  about  the  airth,  and  the  seas,  and  the  winds;  all 
about  the  stars  and  the  sun  ;  all  about  physicking  and  lawing ; 
all  about  —  all  about  everything  in  nater  !  Yes,  it's  the  book- 
larning  —  the  book -laming  !  It  comes  to  me  like  a  flash.  And 
now  I  tell  you,  fellows,  that  I'd  jest  freely  give  a  leg  or  an 
airm,  ef  I  could  only  jest  spell  out  the  letters,  to  onderstand 
'em,  in  the  meanest  leetle  book  that  ever  was  put  in  print." 

Certainly,  this  was  a  strange,  an  entirely  new  subject  for  our 
rogues  to  talk  about;  yet  it  furnished  the  fruitful  text  for  their 
own  rough  commentaries  through  half  the  night.  "  Book-learn* 
•*ng"  suddenly  rose  into  importance  in  the  estimation  of  the 
scamps  and  savages  —  the  seed  of  a  new  idea  in  the  vulgar 
mind,  which  may  possibly  have  fruit.  But,  though  they  brood 
ed  thoughtfully  over  this  theme,  it  did  not  arrest  their  play,  nor 
can  we  report  that  it  lessened  their  potations  a  single  stonp 
Le*  us  leave  them  to  their  cogitations  for  a  season. 


GAMES   OF   PEA::*"    AND   WAR. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

G-tMES    OF    PEACE    AND    WAR. 

INGLEHARDT  made  his  way  up  to  Orangeburg —  made  nir, 
report  t  "Ra«v  don-— r*  very  fair  and  specious  report  of  course  — 
resumed  the  command  of  his  mounted  rifles  —  somewhat  thinned 
in  numbfvs,  and  "9760  permitted  to  go  forth  on  a  foraying  expe 
dition. 

Meanwhile,  Gumter,  and  his  several  lieutenants,  had  begun 
that  progress  which  was  designed  to  root  out  all  the  garrisons  of 
the  British  between  Orangeburg  and  Charleston ;  to  cut  off 
small  posts  and  parties,  cut  up  foray ers,  cut  off  supplies  to  the 
two  garrisons,  where  the  enemy  were  in  strength  too  great  to 
he  assailed,  and  to  alarm  Rawdon  for  his  own  safety.  We  need 
to  recapitulate,  very  briefly,  the  processes  by  which  these  re 
sults  were  to  be  achieved.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the 
British  were  feeble  in  cavalry.  Their  real  strength  lay  in  their 
light  and  heavy-armed  infantry,  and  their  artillery ;  their  num 
ber  at  this  moment  in  the  colony  to  be  estimated  at  three  thou 
sand  men —  all  regulars.  Add  to  this  three  thousand  irregular 
troops,  loyal  militia,  rangers,  and  refugees  from  other  colonies. 
Their  chief  forces  lay  in  Charleston  and  Orangeburg;  their 
minor  posts,  more  or  less  strongly  garrisoned,  according  to  their 
size,  and  the  difficulties  of  the  country  which  choy  were  meant 
to  overawe,  were  now  limited  to  Dorchester,  Monck's  Corner, 
Wantoot,  Watboo,  Fairlawn,  and  Biggin.  At  the  latter  place- 
the  garrison  numbered  five  hundred  good  troops  ;  at  Dorchester, 
there  may  have  been  two  hundred;  the  other  posts  were  rf  in 
ferior  importance,  and  held  by  detachments  varying  from  fifb? 
to  a  hundred  and  fifty  men.  Small  roving  commands,  emplovo: 


^2  KOT4W. 

chiefly  in  foraging,  plied  between  tliese  several  stations,  and 
thus  contributed  to  their  security.  The  British  cavalry  was 
feeble,  consisting  of  Coffin's,  and  a  few  other  bodies,  not  well 
equipped,  badly  manned,  badly  mounted  ;  not  capable  of  resist 
ing  the  American  cavalry,  an  arm  in  which  the  latter  was  par 
ticularly  strong.  The  most  efficient  of  the  British  mounted  men 
were  the  loyalists,  who  had  descended  from  the  region  of  Ninety- 
Six,  with  Cruger,  on  the  abandonment  of  that  fortress.  But  the 
larger  number  of  these  had  pressed  on  to  the  city,  as  not  equal 
to  the  encounter  with  the  trpops  of  Marion  and  Sumter,  and  as 
liable  to  something  more  than  the  penalties  of  the  soldier,  in  the 
event  of  defeat.  Most  of  them  were  outlawed,  and  fought,  they 
well  knew,  with  halters  about  their  necks. 

The  regular  army  of  Greene,  jaded,  sick,  exhausted,  like  tli»« 
of  Rawdon,  had  gone  for  respite,  during  the  dog-days,  Into  camp 
upon  the  hills  of  Santee.  It  was  to  the  cavalry  of  Sumter,  ana 
of  Marion,  their  mounted  riflemen,  and  the  several  detachments 
of  the  Colonels  Lee,  Maham,  the  Hamptons,  Taylor  and  Hurry, 
Lacy,  Singleton,  and  others,  that  the  special  duty  was  confided 
of  attempting  these  several  garrisons  of  the  British,  while  the 
main  bodies  of  the  two  armies  were  in  summer-quarters. 

The  duty  was  begun,  though  utterly  unknown  in  the  British 
garrison  at  Orangeburg,  when  Rawdon  took  the  trip  to  the  Sin 
clair  barony,  at  the  suggestion  and  entreaty  of  Fitzgerald.  Ho 
had  scarcely  done  so  when  Sumter,  and  his  several  detachments, 
began  to  swoop  down  by  all  the  avenues  which  led  to  Charles 
ton.  The  course  appointed  for  Sumter  himself,  with  the  main 
body,  was  to  pursue  the  Congaree  road,  leading  down  the  south 
ern  margin  of  that  river,  and  the  east  of  Cooper. 

And  had  it  not  been  for  a  timely  fate  that  interposed  for  Raw- 
don's  safety,  the  Gamecock  of  the  Santee  would  probably  havu 
happened  upon  a  conquest  which  he  never  hoped  for  at  the  be 
ginning  of  his  march.  But  we  must  not  anticipate.  The  sev 
eral  parties  were  everywhere  in  motion,  on  the  indicated  routes, 
while  Rawdon  was  sipping  Madeira  with  old  Sinclair,  and  Fitz 
gerald  was  drinking  in  delicious  draughts  of  love  from  tha 
bright  eyes  of  Carrie  Sinclair,  as  they  sat  together  over  thb 
chess-board,  or  as  she  played  for  him  upon  the  venerable  harp 
51  chord. 


to  AMES    OF    PEACE    AND    WAR.  193 

Lord  Raw  don  secured  for  him  every  opportunity  for  pressing 
his  attentions  profitably.  He  soon  engaged  Colonel  Sinclair  in 
the  important  topics  of  the  country,  the  condition  of  the  war,  the 
case  of  his  rebel  son,  and  the  future  prospects  of  the  struggle. 
Absorbed  in  subjects  of  this  sort,  the  old  loyalist  colonel  almost 
forgot  he  had  a  daughter;  and,  while  Rawdon  kept  his  mind 
busy  on  these  matters,  in  the  supper-room,  long  after  the  meal 
was  over  —  the  Madeira  taking  the  place  of  the  tea  arid  coffee 
urns  —  the  young  lover  was  free  to  exhibit  all  his  resources  and 
attractions,  with  no  restraint  except  that  which  is  inevitable, 
from  the  modesty  of  a  bashful  Irishman. 

As  the  dialogue  between  Rawdon  and  old  Sinclair  affects  our 
progress  somewhat  more  seriously  than  that  random  chat  in 
which  Fitzgerald  engaged  Carrie  Sinclair,  while  they  brood  to 
gether  over  the  fate  of  red  and  white  castles,  bishops,  knights, 
and  queens,  we  shall  take  leave  to  report  the  more  important 
portions  of  it : — 

"  But,  seriously,  my  dear  Lord  Rawdon,  there  can  be  no  pos 
sibility  of  the  rebels  obtaining  the  insane  freedom  which  they 
'hope  for.  The  vast  resources  of  the  British  empire,  the  vast 
wealth  of  the  kingdom,  the  superiority  of  its  troops  over  all 
others,  the  excellence  of  their  officers — " 

And  he  paused  in  his  array  of  superlatives,  but  only  to  add : 

"These  ' parley -vouz'  —  these  Frenchmen  —  never  yet  could 
stand  before  the  regular  troops  of  Britain ;  and,  as  for  our  own 
raw  inilitia-rnen,  we  know  that  a  single  taste  of  the  bayonet  is 
enough  for  them." 

"  Not  too  fast,  my  dear  colonel,"  said  Rawdon.  "  It  is  one 
thing  to  take  a  lofty  tone  in  dealing  with  onr  enemies,  but  it  is 
very  doubtful  policy  if,  by  doing  so,  we  ever  deceive  ourselves. 
I  am  not  more  willing  to  believe  than  you  are  that  the  rebel 
Congress  can  ultimately  succeed  in  their  wild  disloyalty.  I 
have  no  fear  of  their  armies.  My  faith,  like  yours,  leads  me  to 
calculate  confidently  on  British  prowess  and  British  resources ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  our  prospects  will  brighten  as  soon  as 
his  majesty's  government  is  prepared  to  make  any  extraordi 
nary  effort  to  give  us  the  means  for  crushing  this  combination 
of  our  rebels  with  our  natural  enemies  the  French.  But  we  err 
grievously  in  disparaging  their  armies  ;  and  we  commit  as  great 


194  EUTAW. 

an  error  in  think  ng  lightly  of  the  native  militia  of  the  colonies. 
The  French  are  a  valiant  people,  and  the  rebels  are  acquiring 
the  art  of  war  at  onr  hands." 
"  By  being  beaten  !" 

"  Yes,  by  being  beaten  !  So  long  as  beating  does  not  demor 
alize  a  people,  it  improves  them.  They  are  growing  more  cir 
cumspect  and  more  adventurous  daily — acquiring  fast  the  two 
great  qualities  of  soldiership,  that  of  being  at  once  bold  and 
prudent.  We  have  given  them  frequent  lessons  of  prudence, 
and  they  have  too  much  British  blood  in  their  veins  to  be  want 
ing  in  courage.  They  only  need  experience  and  good  training 
to  be  as  admirable  soldiers  as  any  in  the  world." 

"  That's  what  Willie  says.  But,  they  have  not  the  numbers, 
the  means,  the  munitions — " 

"  No  !  and  we  owe  some  of  our  successes  to  this  very  defi 
ciency —  still  more  to  the  want  of  capacity  in  militia-officers 
generally.  We  have  gained  most  of  our  successes  by  the  in 
competence  of  the  militia-officers;  but  these  advantages  neces 
sarily  disappear  in  the  continuance  of  the  war.  The  imbeciles 
are  soon  got  rid  of;  and  those  who  remain  in  service  are  those* 
only  who  approve  themselves  of  qualities  which  conduct  inevi 
tably  to  self-training,  as  they  supply  by  experience  the  lessons 
which  can  otherwise  be  only  acquired  in  the  regular  service. 
The  success  of  Great  Britain  depends  usually  upon  the  short 
ness  of  a  war,  since  our  system  soon  exhausts  the  supply  of 
good  officers,  and  leaves  none  but  routine-men  in  their  places 
Besides,  it  gives  less  room  for  individual  military  genius.  This 
war  has  been  too  long  for  us,  and  our  hope  is  that  we  shall  be 
able  to  end  it  soon  by  some  crushing  blow.  Unless  we  can  .do 
so,  we  shall  lose  the  colonies  ;  and  we  can  only  do  so  by  an  ex 
traordinary  and  immediate  increase  of  our  forces.  This  is  our 
ore.  at  need  and  our  great  difficulty.  Our  finances  are  embar 
rassed,  and  our  own  people  weary  of  a  war  which  cuts  off  trade 
and  increases  taxation.  There  is  a  strong  party  at  home,  of 
influential  men,  who  are  opposed  to  the  continuance  of  the  war, 
have  always  been  opposed  to  it,  and  are  willing  to  make  peace 
even  on  the  terms  proposed  by  Congress." 
"What!  independence?" 
"  1  am  afraid  so." 


GAMES    OF    PEACE    AND    WAR.  105 

•<  But  will  this  party  succeed,  my  lord  ?" 

"  T  think  not.  I  think  thnt  the  national  pride  will  be  aroused, 
so  as  to  make  the  necessary  effort ;  and,  in  that  case,  I  can  con 
fidently  predict  the  result,  for  Congress  is  exhausted  also." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  lord,  I  never  expected  to  hear  a  British 
general  make  such  a  case.  Why,  that  is  precisely  the  state 
ment  which  Willie  makes." 

"  It  is  possible,  my  dear  colonel,  that,  rather  than  deceive 
myself,  I  may  put  the  case  somewhat  too  strongly;  but  the 
truth  is,  that  I  also  feel  it  strongly.  We  have  not  been  kept 
supplied  with  anything  like  adequate  forces  from  Great  Britain. 
To  keep  this  one  colony  of  South  Carolina  in  proper  subjection 
—  to  subdue  it  in  all  sections  —  to  carry  the  war  into  every  fast 
ness —  I  should  require  at  least  ten  thousand  men.  And  a  like 
force  is  needed  for  Virginia.  Yet,  for  some  time  past,  we  have 
been  fighting  the  rebels  chiefly  with  the  American  loyalists." 
"  Precisely  what  Willie  says." 

"And  they  have  made  good  soldiers;  but  —  and  this  is  the 
worst  feature  in  the  case  —  they  are  getting  lukewarm,  and  grad 
ually  falling  off  from  their  allegiance." 
"  The  miserable  traitors  !" 

"  Not  only  this ;  but  just  as  our  foreign  troops  are  withdrawn 
from  a  precinct,  do  the  rebels  embody  anew,  even  those  who 
had  accepted  parole  and  taken  British  protection.  We  shall 
need  to  make  some  very  severe  examples,  in  order  to  discour 
age  this  propensity." 

"And  they  will  deserve  it !" 

"  Nothing  that  could  occur,  my  dear  colonel,  tells  more  unfa-. 
vorably  for  the  British  cause  thai  these  two  facts  —  the  defec 
tion  of  old  friends,  and  the  rising  of  those,  at  this  moment,  who 
have  hitherto  been  content  to  remain  in  quiet  under  our  protec 
tion.  It  argues,  in  both  cases,  a  growing  conviction  of  our  de 
clining  power.  And,  unhappily,  in  addition  to  the  want  of  suf 
ficient  forces,  there  is  another  upon  which  I  should  not  utter  a 
word,  except  thuo  confidentially  in  the  ear  of  one  upon  whose 
private  friendship  and  loyalty  I  feel  that  I  may  rely.  You 
spoke  of  or7'  officers  in  terms  of  eulogy.  Believe  me,  no  eulo- 
gium  could  have  been  more  misapplied.  Our  generalship  has 
r°.cn  bad  from  the  beginning,  our  plans  mostly  absurd,  OUT 


19()  BUT  AW. 

aims  inisdirected.  Few  of  our  cliief  officers  Lave  any  just  claim 
to  their  position  ;  and  it  is  curious  to  remark  that,  just  now, 
there  is  really  no  good  generalship  anywhere.  Neither  France, 
nor  Britain,  nor  America,  possesses  any  great  soldiers.  Per 
haps  the  rebels  really  have  the  best,  since  they  have  been  able 
to  keep  their  ground  in  spite  of  their  poverty  and  feebleness. 
The  age  seems  not  a  military  age.  Our  best  officers  are 
younger  men,  and  in  subordinate  situations.  They  promise 
well  for  the  future.  It  is  so  with  the  French  —  so  also  with  the 
Americans.  We  want  not  only  sufficient  forces,  but  an  entire 
change  in  the  chief  officers  of  the  army." 

•"  Really,  my  dear  lord,  you  confound  me  !  You  have  given 
me  subjects  for  a  month's  reflection.  Nay,  more,  you  have  re 
minded  me  of  so  much  that  Willie  Sinclair  has  said  —  that 
unfortunate  rebel  of  my  family  —  oh,  that  son  of  mine  should 
ever  have  raised  parricidal  arm  against  his  sovereign  !  —  that  I 
feel  constrained  to  ask  your  opinion  on  another  subject.  Willie 
was  here,  as  I  told  you,  and  at  a  lucky  moment  for  my  life- 
He  told  me  very  much  all  that  has  taken  place  recently,  as  nf 
things  that  must  certainly  take  place,  and  reviewed  the  condi 
tion  of  affairs  with  very  much  the  same  arguments  that  you 
have  done." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  How  much  I  sympathize  with  you,  my  dear 
colonel,  and  regret  that  the  unfortunate  young  man  had  not 
chosen  more  wisely  !  Had  he  done  in  the  right  cause  what  he 
has  done  for  the  rebels,  his  services  and  your  claims  would  have 
secured  him  the  baton  of  a  brigadier  at  least." 

"  Alas  !  my  lord,  I  told  him  all  that.  I  was  sure  of  it.  I 
swore  it  to  him,  but  in  vain.  This  rebellion  was  a  madness  with 
him,  my  lord  —  a  madness.  But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  his  error, 
and  the  grief  which  it  has  occasioned  me.  It  is  the  cause  of 
most  of  these  infernal  attacks  —  pardon  me,  my  lord  —  but  these 
twinges!"  —  and  the  old  man  writhed  upon  tis  cushions,  while 
R  big  tear  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Let  me  beg  you  to  fill,  my  lord.  I  zna&t  drink  his  majes 
ty's  health,  and  the  success  of  his  arms." 

And  they  drank.  The  brief  interruption  over,  old  Sinclair 
proceeded  -  — 

'  NYillie   Sinclair,  my  dear  lord,  bating   this  monomark  of 


GAMES  OF  PEACE   AND    WAR.  197 

liberty  which  lias  made  him  a  rebel,  is  yet  no  fool,  sir  —  but  a 
cool,  shrewd,  thoughtful,  long-headed  young  fellow  —  and  as 
brave,  sir,  as  Julius  Caesar." 

"  I  know  his  character,  my  dear  colonel.  I  have  heard  the 
same  report  of  him  from  far  less  partial  sources.  In  these  re 
spects,  at  least,  he  proves  his  legitimacy." 

"  Ah !  my  lord,  I  could  have  been,  I  was  proud  of  this  like 
ness  to  myself,  until  he  became  a  rebel.  But,  no  more  of  that 
—  no  more  of  that." 

And  unconsciously  the  old  man  refilled  and  swallowed  an 
other  glass  of  his  favorite  Madeira,  while  Rawdon  beheld  an 
other  and  bigger  tear  crawling  down  his  cheek. 

"Well,  my  lord"  —  recovering  himself,  as  it  were  —  "well, 
my  lord,  when  Willie  was  here,  he  said  that  you  had  abandoned 
'  Ninety-Six,'  but  I  wouldn't  believe  him ;  and  he  went  on  to 
say,  that  you  would  be  gradually  compelled  to  confine  yourself 
between  the  waters  of  the  Santee  and  Edisto  —  that  you  woufcl 
make  a  stand  either  at  Orangeburg  or  here  —  and  that  all  this 
region  would  soon  become  the  scene  of  active  warfare." 

"  Ah  !  said  he  that  ?" 

"  He  did.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  for  it 
may  be  a  betrayal  of  some  of  his  secrets — " 

"  Not  a  bit !  not  a  bit !  It  was  only  what  I  feared — expected 
I  should  say.  I  inferred  that  such  would  be  Greene's  policy 
And—" 

"  He  counselled  me  accordingly,  to  leave  this  place  and  go  to 
§1ie  Santee,  or  Charleston.  Now,  if  I  am  compelled  to  go 
anywhere,  I  shall  go  to  the  city ;  but  I  wish  to  take  your  coun 
sel,  touching  the  propriety  of  this  counsel.  It  is  a  serious  mat 
ter  to  me  just  now.  Travel  is  no  easy  work  in  my  case. 
Besides,  the  crop  is  made.  As  it  is,  we  have  been  compelled 
to  hide  the  indigo  in  troughs,  in  the  thickets,  to  save  it  from 
marauders,  and — " 

"  The  counsel  is  good.  Go,  by  all  means,  though  you  aban 
don  everything  that  you  can  not  carry.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
all  this  region  will  be  traversed  by  war.  Your  presence  here 
would  only  expose  yourself  and  daughters  to  insult,  robbery, 
and  murder ;  for  all  the  vigilance  of  a  general,  unless  he  be 
very  strong,  in  himself  arid  in  his  forces,  can  give  only  an  im- 


108  EUTAW. 

perfect  sort  of  protection  to  a  country  so  exposed,  and  so 
sparsely  settled  as  this.  Go,  by  all  means.  I  am  about  to 
leave  the  country." 

"  You  —  you  —  my  loid  !     Then  all  is  lost !" 

"  Not  so  !  you  ascribe  to  mo  too  much.  I  did  not  mean  to 
convey  this  idea,  but  only  to  say,  that,  about  to  leave  the  coun 
try  myself,  I  can  promise  nothing  from  myself.  The  govern 
ment  will  be  in  other  hands.  Go,  by  all  means.  It  wi^  be 
some  time,  in  any  event,  before  our  army,,  under  any  generalship, 
will  be  able  to  give  you  protection.  Better  risk  your  posses 
sions,  than  your  life  and  the  security  of  your  daughters." 

Old  Sinclair  seemed  overwhelmed. 

"  Is  it  so  ?  Is  it  come  to  this  1  The  arms  of  Britain  can  no 
longer  give  me  protection  on  my  own  grounds."  And  he  sighed 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  Willie  Sinclair !  Willie  Sinclair !  you  have  helped  to 
bring  this  dishonor  on  your  country's  flag  !" 

And  the  baron  hastily  gulped  down  another  stoup  of  Madeira, 
thrusting  the  decanter  to  his  lordship,  who  followed  his  example 
without  a  word.  Rawdon  then  resumed  the  dialogue. 

"  I  must  leave  the  country,  colonel ;  you  see  my  condition. 
I  am  worn  out  —  exhausted.  Another  campaign  will  kill  me. 
My  whole  system  is  out  of  tone.  I  have  no  energies.  I  only 
remain  to  see  the  army  put  in  order  —  to  adjust  the  affairs  of  my 
military  government  with  the  civil  authorities ;  do  what  I  can, 
by  some  severe  examples,  to  discourage  treason  and  desertion, 
and  then  leave  the  future  administration  in  hands  that  will,  I 
trust,  prove  more  efficient  than  mine." 

"  Impossible  !     That  is  impossible,  my  lord." 

In  the  last  remarks  he  had  uttered,  Rawdon  had  foreshad 
owed  that  policy  which  resulted  in  the  military  trial  and  exe 
cution  of  Hayne.  The  policy  was  a  doubtful  one ;  but  that 
the  measure  was  prompted  by  notions  of  policy  and  discipline, 
rather  than  by  any  malignant  feeling,  we  have  no  sort  of  ques 
tion.  Hayne  was  simply  a  sacrifice  to  the  changed  and  chang 
ing  condition  of  parties  in  the  country.  His  fate  was  designed 
to  be  an  example  to  a  host  of  other  offenders,  whose  treason 
was  still  in  an  incipient  state  only,  but  was  reasonably  a 
subject  of  suspicion.  Rawdon  was  a  man  who  could  be  cruel 


GAMES   OP   PEACE    AND    WAR.  199 

from  policy,  but  not  from  impulse.  If  Hayne  was  a  sacrifice 
to  the  manes  of  Andre,  it  was  so  decreed  from  mere  policy. 

Leaving  the  two  still  engaged  in  subjects  that  sufficiently 
occupied  their  thoughts,  let  us  look  in  upon  our  two  younger 
parties,  as  they  pursue  the  mimic  game  of  war  upon  the  chess 
board.  Fitzgerald  is  speaking  as  we  enter. 

"  There  are  several  reasons,  Miss  Sinclair,  why  I  should  not 
suffer  you  to  beat  me." 

This  was  said  after  the  loss  of  an  unlucky  castle  by  the 
cavalier. 

"  Pray,  what  are  they,  my  lord  ?" 

"  First,  I  am  a  man,  and  it  will  discredit  me  as  such,  if  I  am 
beaten  by  a  woman." 

Positively,  he  did  say  woman  and  not  lady.  We  know  that 
our  codfish  aristocracy  will  vote  such  speaking  as  excessively 
vulgar  in  anybody,  especially  in  a  lord ;  but  they  will  be  con 
soled  by  remembering  that  Fitzgerald  is  only  an  Irish  lord,  and 
we  doubt  if  England  even,  to  this  day,  recognises  Irish  or 
Scotch  lords,  as  altogether  of  the  genuine  "  Itluc  blood." 

"  Well,  for  the  second  reason  ?" 

"  Secondly,  I  am  a  soldier,  and  to  be  defeated  by  a  woman  in 
a  military  game,  would  be  doubly  discreditable." 

"  Really,  these  would  seem  to  be  good  reasons  for  your  sturdy 
resolution.  Are  there  any  more  ?" 

"  Thirdly,  if  beaten  by  a  woman,  I  am  bound  to  surrender  to 
her,  a  discretion  —  a  sworn  slave  and  subject  —  the  mere  creature 
of  her  will." 

This  was  the  nearest  approach  which  our  bashful  Irishman 
had  yet  made  toward  love-making.  Carrie  Sinclair  replied, 
coolly : — 

"  On  that  last  score,  my  lord,  I  will  relieve  you  of  all  uneasi 
ness —  I  give  you  your  freedom  in  anticipation  of  the  event." 

"Ah !  but  suppose,  I  prefer  the  bonds." 

"  That  as  you  please  ;  but  that  involves  no  necessity  with  me, 
to  be  your  custodian.'' 

"  Checkmated  at  the  beginning.  Scholar's  mate  !"  said  Fitz 
gerald  sotto  cocc.  He  added  aloud  : — 

"  Ah  !  you  disdain  the  very  victories  you  win.  You  send 
your  captives  off'  to  execution." 


200  EUTAW. 

"  OL,  by  no  means  !  But,  like  all  magnanimous  conquerors, 
my  lord,  I  fight  for  the  honors,  and  not  the  spoils  of  war." 

"  And  the  honors  arc  the  Lest  spoils  of  war.  And  the  captive 
becomes  the  trophy." 

"  But  the  truly  magnanimous  is  content  with  the  victory,  and 
not  with  its  display." 

"  You  are  resolved  on  victory,  then,  like  all  your  sex.  You 
will  queen  it  while  you  can.  Well,  there's  check  to  your  queen. 
Her  royal  highness  is  in  danger." 

"  Not  so,  my  lord,  it  is  the  knight  as  you  will  see ;"  and  by  a 
simple  move,  advancing  a  pawn,  she  unmasked  a  bishop,  which 
bore  right  and  left  upon  the  knight  and  king  of  the  assailant. 

"  Check,  my  lord  !" 

41  St.  Patrick  be  my  safety.  You  have  put  it  in  great  peril. 
But—" 

The  interposition  of  the  opposite  bishop  did  not  help  the 
fortunes  of  the  game.  The  white  queen  descended  upon  it  with 
the  swoop  of  an  eagle. 

"  Check  !  —  and  check-mate,  my  lord  !" 

"  It  is  written.  I  am  a  dishonored  knight,  Overthrown  by 
a  woman.  Lady,  I  am  your  captive." 

"  Be  free,  my  lord  !  The  conqueror  delights  in  conquest,  not 
in  victims." 

"  You  are  too  generous,  Miss  Sinclair.  I  could  freely  be 
beaten  thus  always." 

"  I  have  half  a  doubt,  my  lord,  whether  you  have  not  pur 
posely  allowed  me  the  victory.  But  I  will  not  question  fortune 
at  least.  I  prefer,  for  the  credit  of  my  play,  to  believe  that,  in 
some  way,  the  Fates  have  helped  me  to  victory,  in  spite  of  your 
superior  skill.  You  are  not  in  the  mood,  perhaps  —  out  of 
practice  —  more  occupied  with  the  game  of  war.  Now,  I  am  in 
practice,  and  papa  and  myself  daily  meet  as  enemies  in  this 
sanguinary  battle-field,  where  pale  Faith  confronts  with  sanguin 
ary  Valor." 

"  Your  personification  reminds  me  of  poetry  and  music.  Will 
you  do  me  the  honor  to  sing  for  me,  Miss  Sinclair  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  my  lord.  I  am  so  fond  of  singing  and  playing 
that  I  am  glad  whr-novor  anybody  asks  me.  Nay,  for  that  mat 
ter,  I  sing  withnu*  as  the  birds  do,  I  suppose-" 


GAMES   OF    PEACE    AND    WAR.  201 

And  she  got  up  from  the  chess-table,  and  went  at  once  to  the 
harpsichord,  and  while  he  stood  over  her,  sang  as  follows : — 

"  Where  go'st  them,  gallant  lover, 

On  what  wild  qxiest,  on  what  wild  quest, 
Still,  a  gay  careless  rover, 

From  true  love's  breast,  from  true  love's  breast ; 
On  what  dark  field  of  danger, 

Seek'st  thou  the  foe,  seek'st  thou  the  foe  ; 
Come  back  soon,  heedless  ranger, 

Why  didst  thou  go,  why  dicLst  thou  go  ! 

"  I  wait  thee,  wandering  lover, 

Still  at  the  gate,  still  at  the  gate ; 
I  see  the  vulture  hover, 

Threatening  thy  mate,  threatening  thy  mate ; 
But,  heed  not  mine  own  danger, 

Looking  for  thee,  looking  for  thee.; 
Come  back,  then,  dearest  ranger, 

Come  back  to  me,  come  back  to  me.w 

Carrie  sang  very  sweetly,  with  a  great  deal  of  taste,  and  with 
that  frankness  —  that  overflow  and  abundance  of  heart  —  which 
made  her  seem  always  equally  natural  and  earnest.  Her  songs 
seemed  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  overflow  of  her  own  sim- 
:le  emotions  —  the  absolute  sunny  outbreak  of  her  own  warm 
heart. 

Fitzgerald  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  though  an  Irishman, 
to  use  any  absurd  commonplace  blarney  on  the  occasion.  But 
he  looked  his  pleasure  —  and,  for  a  moment  felt  it  —  but  a  single 
infant  after  he  became  grave.  It  struck  him  that  there  was 
:ome  significance  in  the  song,  which  might,  be  quite  individual. 
He  said  to  himself — nay,  had  almost  spoken  out: — 

•'  The  d — 1 !  does  she  speak  of  that  fellow  St.  Julien,  in  ihe 
character  of  the  ranger,  and  am  I  her  vulture  ?" 

The  next  moment  he  said  aloud,  and  some  what*  abruptly,  as 
he  took  his  seat  beside  her  : — 

"Pray,  Miss  Sinclair  —  pardon  my  impertinence,  but,  do  oaf- 
fer  me  —  do  you  ever  write  verses?  in  other  Avords  —  don't  you 
make  your  own  songs  ?  Now  that  very  sweet  little  ballad  I 
have  never  had  the  good  fortune  to  hnve  heard  before ;  and  I 
a°.ve  heard  songs,  English,  Scotch,  Iritis,  ever  since  I  was  knee- 
high.  It  CGunds  like,  an  Isnprouiptu." 


202  EUTAW. 

The  lady  blushed  a  little  —  why? 

"  No  !  my  lord,  the  song  is  entirely  American  ;  but  not  of  my 
fashioning.  It  is  from  the  pen  of  one  George  Dennison,  a  native 
of  our  region,  who  is  quite  a  ballad-monger,  like  Glendower, 
and  almost  speaks  in  music.  It  was  taught  me,  music  and  all, 
by  my  brother,  Willie." 

What  more  might  have  been  said  by  our  gallant,  on  this  sub 
ject,  or  was  said,  was  prevented,  or  interrupted,  by  a  sudden 
clamor  from  without;  hoarse  cries  —  the  rush  of  horses,  pistol- 
shots,  and  finally  the  shrill  blast  of  a  score  of  bugles,  waking 
up  suddenly  the  whole  still  atmosphere. 

"Ha!"  cried  Fitzgerald,  starting  to  his  feet.  "A  surprise  !" 
and  he  dashed  out  without  stopping  to  make  his  parting  obei 
sance.  Rawdon,  similarly  aroused,  in  the  opposite  room,  has 
tily  gathered  up  his  sword  and  vhapeau  bras,  and  dashed  out 
also.  Carrie  Sinclair,  not  less  excited,  darted  into  the  supper- 
room  to  her  father;  and  to  the  surprise  of  both,  Nelly  Floyd,  in 
her  night-dress,  made  her  appearance  among  them,  descending 
from  her  chamber !  She  had  heard  the  sounds  of  battle  before 
either. 


THE  SURPRISE  2U3 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HOW  THE  SOLDIERS  WENT    ONE  WAY,  AND    THE    LADIES  ANOTH 
ER —  HOW7    HELL-FIRE    DICK    TAKES    TO    LITERATURE. 

FOR  full  half  an  hour,  the  alarm  continued.  Shots  and  shouts, 
and  screams,  and  blasts  of  the  trumpet,  now  approaching,  now 
•^•ceding,  indicated  a  sharp  passage  at  arms  between  the  parties. 
>.ii  rill  this  time,  great  was  the  alarm  and  excitement  in  the 
>:;  luehold.  War  was  already  brought  to  the  doors  of  the  bar- 
-y.  Old  Sinclair,  hardly  able  to  lift  a  leg,  was  furious  at  Ins 
:T',TI  imbecility. 

"'  Oh  !"  he  cried,  "  what  a  cursed  fate  is  this.  That  I,  a  mil 
itary  man  and  no  rebel,  should  be  compelled  to  cling  to  my 
cushions,  when  rebellion  is  shouting  about  my  house.  It  is  time 
•o  be  gone.  It  is  time  to  die,  when  we  can  no  longer  make  use 
of  life.  Ha  !  those  shots  are  sharp  !  To  think  that  Lord  Haw- 
don,  general  of  the  British  army  should  be  beleaguered  in  my 
cwn  house,  and  I  able  to  do  nothing  —  to  strike  no  blow  —  to 
prove  my  loyalty  in  nothing  but  empty  words,  vaporing  and 
worthless  !" 

"  You  have  done  your  duty  already,  my  dear  father.  You 
L'tve  proved  your  loyalty  by  long  and  faithful  services.  In 
'die  Cherokee  war — " 

'  D — n  the  Cherokee  war  !  What  was  that  to  this,  in  which 
f  am  able  to  do  nothing.  Hark  !  the  sounds  die  away.  No  ! 
Micy  are  approaching.  What  if  my  Lord  Ilawdon  is  beaten. 
..f  they  bring  overwhelming  numbers  upon  him.  If  he  is  slain 
iitd  taken  captive,  Get  me  my  sword,  Carrie  —  my  pistols.  I 
".•in  c.o  nothing  with  the  sword !  Ah  !"  as  a  sharp  twinge  took 


204  EUTAW. 

him  by  the  fool   and  wrung  it  as  in  a  vice  —  "Ah!  lean  do 
nothing  with  anything." 

And  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  pallid  and  exhausted. 

The  skirmish  continued.     The  veteran  roared  aloud  : — 

"And  where  is  that  bowlegged  rascal,  Benny?  He  should 
be  here  at  this  time  to  defend  the  citadel.  He  has  no  gout. 
He  is  an  old  soldier.  Why  is  he  not  here  ?  And  Little  Peter  — 
the  overgrown  giant  —  what  is  he  good  for  that  he  is  not  here? 
With  a  dozen  of  these  rascals,  I  could  keep  the  house  against  a 
squadron.  And  who  knows  but  that  we  shall  bo  compelled  to 
stand  a  siege.  The  black  rascals  to  desert  me  at  this  moment. 
Where  can  they  be." 

Carrie  suggested  that  Benny  Bowlegs  was  probably  at  his 
own  house,  as  the  hour  was  late  —  that  the  affair  was  a  surprise 
—  that,  in  all  probability,  neither  he,  nor  Peter,  nor  any  of  the 
hands,  could  get  to  the  house,  with  a  host  of  foes  skirmishing  be 
tween.  It  was  only  prudence  with  them  to  lie  close,  and  keei> 
in  the  shelter  of  their  cabins. 

"  Prudence  !  while  you  are  about  to  be  massacred  !    Tho  cow 
ardly  rascals.     And  don't  tell  me  of  a  surprise.     The  troops  o* 
his  majesty  are  never  surprised.     To  be  surprised,  Carrie  C  in 
clair,  is  to  be  disgraced.     It  is  next,  in  shame,  to  cowardice 
Tell  me  not  of  any  surprises.     Lord  Rawdon  is  too  good  a  sol 
dier  for  that.     The  enemy  was  simply  beating  up  his  qti alters 
that's  all ;   but  will  find  him  prepared.     He  will  go  oil,  if  ht 
gets  off  at  all,  on  a- lame  leg.     Lord  Rawdon,  Miss  Sinclair,  if 
a  soldier.    Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  is  a  soldier.    There  is  noili  - 
ing  to  fear,  I  tell  you.     We  are  as  safe  here,  as  if  within  the 
walls  of  Charleston.     Don't  T  know  that;  but  the  curse  is  that 
I  can  do  nothing.     I  ani  a  poor,  old,  worthless,  miserable, 
valided  cripple,  and  feeling  as  I  do,  I  begin  to  doubt  if  1  ws.c 
ever  in  the  Cherokee  war  at  all  —  if  T  (  •.  r-r  crossed  the  moim 
tains  with  Grant  and  ]VIiddleton  —  d — n  Middleton  —  he  to..-  i 
a  rebel  —  all  the  Middletons  are  rebels  —  and  more  chame  t; 
them,  too,  when  they  could  cend  into  the  field,  a  fellow,  v\-::i 
the  ability  to  lead  a  regiment  in  the  Cherokee  war.     liark.  nr? 
child,  do  you  lic-ar  .-iriy thirty's" 

"  The  sounds  seeir  to  have  died  away,  my  dear  fatnerrf-' 

"  To  be  sure.     I   knew   ihey   would.     The  rebe';a  are   z'.± 


THE   SURPRISE.  £0-") 

persed.  What  nonsense  was  it  that  entered  your  Head  1  Did 
you  suppose  that  British  regulars  could  be  defeated  by  these 
skirmishing  rapscallions  ?  Taken  by  surprise,  marry  !  and  by 
these  renegades.  British  soldiers  taken  by  surprise  !  A  soldier 
like  my  Lord  Rawdon  caught  napping !  No,  Carrie,  my  dear, 
you  are  too  ignorant  of  war,  to  understand  that  war  is  a  pecu 
liarly  British  science ;  Britons  are  born  to  it  —  born  to  it,  and 
the  bayonet  is  their  natural  weapon." 

And  the  veteran  began  to  sing  even  as  he  writhed  —  "Brit 
ons,  strike  Home !" 

Carrie,  sotto  race,  murmured — "  I'd  much  rather,  they  should 
go  home,"  but  she  took  care  to  let  no  senses  but  her  own,  catch 
the  accents  of  so  impudent  a  speech. 

4<  Go  to  bed,  my  child  —  you  and  your  young  friend.  I  could 
have  told  you  that  there  was  no  occasion  for  alarm  -*- that,  as 
to  surprising  a  British  force,  under  Lord  Rawdon —  under  any 
British  officer — the  thing  is  impossible.  Go  to  bed,  go  to  bed 
— but  see  that  the  liquors  are  put  forth.  Tn  abundance  do  you 
hear  ?  Let  Polly  bring  out  a  demijohn  of  the  Jamaica.  These 
brave  fellows  will  need  refreshment,  and  every  man  who  wears 
an  epaulet  shall  drink  when  he  returns." 

He  was  obeyed.  Edisto  Polly  was  put  in  immediate  requi 
sition,  and  the  liquors  were  provided  in  readiness,  any  quan 
tity,  for  the  refreshment  of  the  British  officers.  Meanwhile, 
Carrie  Sinclair  and  Nelly  Floyd  retired  to  the  upper  chambers, 
and  for  awhile,  our  Ijaron  sat  in  solitary  state,  waiting  anxiously 
for  his  returning  guests. 

They  came  at  last,  Rawdon  and  Fitzgerald,  looking  very 
much  tired  and  somewhat  angry.  It  is  a  very  unpleasant  thing 
to  be  disturbed  so  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  pleasant  avocations. 
To  be  called  upon  abruptly,  by  trumpet,  to  harness  for  battle 
with  rough  customers,  when  one  is  swallowing  his  tokay  with 
a  friend,  or  just  on  the  eve  of  whispering  dulcet  suggestions  to 
his  sweetheart,  will  ruffle  the  best  temper  in  the  world.  Fitz 
gerald,  in  particular,  felt  how  great  were  his  grievances  when 
he  looked  round,  and  saw  no  female  sign  in  the  ascendant,  and 
felt,  from  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  that  the  curtains  of  the  night 
were  drawn  between  himself  and  the  maid  whom  he  was  about 
to  woo  so  earnestly. 


200  EUTAW. 

He,  following  Rawdon,  was  followed  in  turn  by  Major  Jekyll 
of  the  British  army,  who  was  instantly  introduced  to  Colonel 
Sinclair.  The  old  gentleman  took  the  opportunity,  immedi 
ately  after,  to  introduce  the  Madeira. 

"  You  have  had  some  warm  work  of  it,  my  lord ;  will  you  be 
pleased  to  take  a  glass  of  Madeira.  Gentlemen,  willl  you  be 
so  good  as  to  grace  us  in  a  little  Madeira. 

His  lordship  filled,  and  the  other  gentlemen  followed.  RaAv- 
don  bowed  to  the  colonel  and  said : — 

"  We  owe  this  brush  to  your  son,  colonel.  It  is  he  who  has 
been  beating  up  our  quarters !" 

"  My  son  !  ah  !  my  lord,  spare  me.  This  is  a  great  humilia 
tion  to  a  father." 

"  Never  a  bit,  colonel ;  however  much  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  the  boy  is  on  the  wrong  side ;  it  is  quite  creditable  to  him 
that  he  can  do  honor  to  it.  A  brave,  high-spirited,  enterprising 
fellow.  I  can  only  repeat,  that  the  same  shows  of  talent  and 
spirit  under  the  banner  of  his  king,  would  have  secured  him 
much  more  elevated  distinctions.  But,  with  your  permission,  I 
will  hear  the  report  of  Major  Jekyll." 

"  Perhaps,  I  had  better  retire,  my  lord,"  said  Colonel  Sin 
clair,  twisting  uneasily  on  his  cushions. 

"  No,  sir ;  not  unless  you  please,  and  prefer  to  do  so.  There 
is  nothing,  I  fancy,  which  may  not  be  delivered  in  the  hearing 
of  so  good  a  loyalist  as  yourself.  Now,  Major  Jekyll." 

"  Ton  remember,  my  lord,  that  Captain  Inglehardt,  of  the  loy 
alist  mounted  men,  was  despatched  with  his  command,  on  a  fo 
raying  expedition.  He  took  with  him  three  wagons;  and  in  an 
encounter  with  Captain  St.  Julien,  he  found  himself  compelled 
to  abandon  his  wagons,  after  a  smart  skirmish,  in  which  he  lost 
four  men.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  reaching  camp  in  safety, 
and  brought  in  with  him  a  countryman  from  the  Congaree,  who 
reported  the  whole  of  the  American  army  to  be  in  motion,  about 
to  move  below,  and  on  both  sides  of  the  river.  This  rendered 
Colonel  Stewart  uneasy  for  the  safety  of  your  escort,  knowing 
it  to  be  small,  and  lie  immediately  ordered  out  a  detachment- 
three  companies  of  light  infantry  ;  in  all  a  hundred  men,  and 
the  mounted  men  of  Captain  Tnglehardt  —  all  of  which  he  con 
fided  to  my  command.  Five  miles  above,  a  demonstration  was 


THE   SURPRISE.  'JO? 

rc.£.dd  upon  us  by  Captain  St.  Julien,  whom  we  succeeded  in 
1: eating  off;  but,  scarcely  had  his  troopers  found  cover  in  the 
v,roo:ls,  when  we  were  again  assailed  by  another  body  of  mount 
ed  rifles,  and  cavalry,  under  the  lead  of  Major  Sinclair.  In  both 
jmmauds,  there  may  have  been  a  hundred,  or  a  hundred  and 
hventy  men.  They  united,  in  a  renewal  of  the  action,  and, 
plying  the  attack  on  front  and  rear,  avoiding  close  action  — 
recoiling  at  our  advance,  and  resinning  the  assault,  whenever 
we  resumed  the  march  —  the  fight  has  been  continued  during 
the  progress  of  the  last  four  miles.  I  did  not  venture  to  turn 
about  and  pursue,  since  I  knew  not  what  ambush  might  be  en 
countered  in  the  woods.  My  force  was  too  small  to  suffer  me 
to  be  venturous,  and  I  contented  myself  with  just  the  degree  of 
effort  which  was  necessary  to  keeping  them  at  bay,  bringing 
them  down  to  where  I  knew,  reinforced  by  your  escort  of 
cavalry,  we  could  turn  upon  them  with  safety.  They  made  a 
rush  upon  us,  as  we  entered  your  camp,  some  score  or  two  ac 
tually  pressing  in  with  us.  The  rest  you  know,  my  lord.  Your 
people  were  upon  the  alert,  and  the  enemy  reaped  nothing  from 
the  rashness  of  their  last  charge." 

"  What  casualties  ?"  demanded  Rawdon. 

'-'  I  fear,  my  lord,  that  they  are  greater  than  we  know,  We 
i.orit  nine  men,  slain  outright,  on  the  march ;  there  are  some 
fourteen  wounded,  and,  thus  far,  we  have  a  report  of  eleven 
missing.  The  enemy's  loss,  I  feel  sure,  must  be  much  greater. 
We  saw  several  drop  under  our  fire,  but  they  carried  off  their 
clain  arid  wounded  into  the  woods  as  fast  as  they  fell.  I  should 
estimate  the*r  loss  at  fifty,  at  least,  in  the  course  of  the  two  en 
counters,  first  with  St.  Julien,  and  afterward  with  himself  and 
M"ajcr  Sinclair." 

Sinclair  would  have  called  Jekyll's  estimate  of  his  loss  an 
iuuusirgly  and  amazingly  extravagant  one;   but  British  est:« 
niat,$s  ->f  an  oneiiy's  casualties,  are  usually  of  this  magnificent 
description. 

"  I  see  nothing  to  reprove  in  your  conduct,  Major  Jokyll ; 
you  seem  to  hk^i  lehaved  with  proper  conduct,  valor,  and  pru- 
Gcmcc.  But  of  tl.is  we  shall  speak  hereafter,  and  when  we 
I  avc  had  leisure  for  a  full  survey  of  the  field.  I  will  thank 
yoa  to  see  that  your  posts  for  the  night  are  taken  carefully—- iu 


208  EUTAW. 

positions  which   allow   of  no  cover  for  the   approaches 
enemy.     In  an  hour,  I  will  myself  make  a  tour  of  inspection 
Your  men  will  sleep  on  their  arms.     We  shall  march,  an  hcui 
before  day." 

As  Jekyll  was  about  to  retire,  Colonel  Sinclair  arrested  him 

"  One  moment,  Major  Jekyll ;  one  moment.  My  lord,  J  havs 
had  a  demijohn  of  rum  put  in  readiness,  thinking  you  might 
desire  to  serve  out  a  ration  of  it  to  the  brave  fellows  in  your 
escort." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  colonel ;  it  will  prove  grateful  enough, 
I  warrant." 

"  And,  if  you  will  permit  me,  my  lord,  I  should  like  to  join 
yourself,  my  Lord  Edward,  and  Major  Jekyll,  in  a  much  better 
liquor." 

"  I  can  answer  for  it,  colonel,  that  my  two  friends  will  be  as 
well  pleased  as  myself  to  do  justice  to  your  Madeira." 

They  drank,  and  Jekyll  at  once  retired.  The  Lords  Raw 
don  and  Fitzgerald  lingered  an  hour  later,  and  the  bottle,  was 
emptied  j  unobservedly,  by  all  parties,  as  a  very  interesting 
conversation  ensued,  upon  the  affairs  of  the  war. 

But  this  dialogue  we  need  not  report.  At  the  close  of  i*;, 
Rawdon  said : — 

"  To  return  to  a  subject,  my  dear  colonel,  which  we  had  undu 
discussion  before  this  alarm.  You  perhaps  see  with  me,  in  the 
occurrence  of  to-night,  and  in  the  report  brought  by  Mi-j-.r 
Jekyll,  additional  reasons  in  support  of  the  propriety  of  your 
leaving  the  barony  for  a  season.  Go  to  the  city  by  all  means. 
You  will  find  no  security  here,  for  some  time  to  come.  The 
city  will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn,  by  any  force  that  the  Americans 
can  bring  against  us  ;  and,  whether  we  finally  triumph,  or  ac-  7 
don  the  contest,  it  can  not  in  any  way  affect  the  results  to  y./z-. 
My  advice  is  to  proceed  to  the  city  as  soon  as  possible.  It  L 
my  purpose  to  go  thither,  as  soon  as  I  have  made  all  proper 
arrangements  at  Orangeburg." 

The  colonel  groaned  at  the  idea  of  a  fatiguing  journey  in  the 
slow  and  heavy  coaches  of  that  day,  cabined,  cribbed,  confined, 
without  proper  resthig-room  and  place"  for  hi.s  game  leg.  Buf 
he  felt  the  force  of  the  advice  from  the  lips  of  Rawdon. 

"  ..  will  make  my  preparations   to-morrow.     1  hope,  my  lord 


THE  SURPRISE. 

that  we  shall  have  pieasariter  themes  for  contemplation  when 
we  meet  in  CHjuplesUm,." 

The  conversation  vas  protracted  a  little  longer.  At  length, 
Rawdon,  who  haJ  •  /sunly  urged  the  old  man  to  retire —  alleging 
the  necessity  for  iis  remaining  up  some  time  himself,  in  order 
to  take  the  CHHT>  rounds  —  gave  the  signal  to  his  aid,  and  the 
two  rose,  and  went  forth  in  the  execution  of  their  duties. 

Scarcely  had  they  gone,  when  Benny  Bowlegs,  and  Little 
peter,  showed  themselves  at  the  entrance,  prepared  to  wheel 
cr  lift  the  baron  to  his  chamber.  The  look  of  Benny  was  ex 
alting—his  whole  air  was  singularly  lifted  and  self-satisfied. 
That  of  Little  Peter  strove  in  admiring  emulation  of  his  superior. 

"  And  where  the  d — 1  were  you,  Benny,  all  the  time  this 

skirmish  was  going  on1?     How  was  it,  sirrah,  that  I  had   U 

cream  fcr  you  in  vain  ?     We  might  have  been  all  murdered 

by  thesb  I'ascally  rebels,  for  any  aid  you  could  have  given  us." 

"  Oh,  psho,  maussa,  I  bin  know  all  de  time,  dere  was  no  sawt 
of  danger  for  you,  and  Miss  Carrie.  'Twa'n't  no  rascally  rebel, 
tall,  maussa  :  'twas  Mass  Willie  hese'f,  Kunnel— Major  Willie 
Sinclair  —  dat  was  making  de  scatteration  'mong  de  red-coats." 

"  What,  rascal !  have  you  turned  rebel  too  ?" 

'Me!  me,  rebel?  No,  sah !  I  goes  wid  Mass  Willie,  sah ! 
— •  da's  all !  Lawd  !  maussa,  ef  you'd  ha'  seen  how  he  mek  dc 
fodders  fly,  in  dat  las'  charge  he  mek  up  by  de  ole  field  V 

"  Ha  !  he  fought  well,  did  lie  ?" 

"  Put  me  in  mine  ob  ole  times,  maussa,  when  you  dash  in 
'mong  dem  red-skins,  up  by  Etchoe.  Lawd,  maussa,  it  fair  did 
my  ole  heart  good,  for  see  Mass  Willie  splurging  'mong  dem 
red-coats.  I  shum  [see  'em]  cut  down  two  ob  dem  dragoons 
wid  my  own  eye.  I  tink,  maussa,  so  help  me  God !  he  bin  cut 
one  fellow  fair  in  two !  Oh,  he's  a  slasher  wid  dat  broad 
swode !  You  nebber  bin  do  better,  maussa,  youse'f,  in  you  best 
days,  He's  a  chip  o'  de  old  block." 

"  Ha  !  and  he  slashed  away,  did  he  ?" 

"Right  and  lefF,  maussa — up  and  down  —  out  and  in  —  hc- 
mek  a  clear  track  ebbry  side  wid  he  broad  swode." 

"Ha!  ha!  you  saw  it?  He  is  a  powerful  fellow,  Benny  — 
monstrous  powerful — just  what  I  was  in  my  young  days — at 
his  time  of  life !  I'd  give  fifty  guineas,  by  the  Lord  Harry  I 


210  EUTAW. 

to  see  Willie  Sinclair  on  a  charge !  What  ?  ;  von  grin  at,  you 
rascal?  You  are  abetting  this  rebel  son  ~i.'  mine!  Do  you 
suppose,  you  rascal,  because  I  am  glad  to  ?  ",v  that  my  sen  is 
a  brave  and  powerful  fellow,  that  I  approv  .*  Lis  conduct?  — 
that  I  justify  him  in  this  unnatural  warfare  • ., •  -linst  his  natural 
sovereign  ?  Heh,  rascal !" 

"Don't  ax  wedder  you  'proves  or  not,  mau&Lu. ;  all  I  got  fcr 
say,  is  dat  Willie  Sinclair  is  all  1; — 1  wid  de  broad-swede." 

"  Ila  !  ha  !  ha  !  all  h — 1  with  the  broad-sword  !  Benny  Bow- 
legs  this  is  not  the  sort  of  language  you  should  use  in  ny  hear 
ing.  But  —  Benny,  help  yourself  and  little  Peter  to  seme  oT  that 
rum  —  there,  in  the  big  decanter!  Help  yourselves  freely  ras 
cals ;  you  need  something  to  quiet  your  d — — d  stupid  excite 
ment !" 

This  duty  done,  the  two  helped  the  veteran  to  his  chamber,  in 
the  recesses  of  which,  little  Peter  having  been  dismissed,  the 
colonel  contrived  to  get  from  Benny  a  more  copioua  narrative 
At  the  close  of  it,  he  said  : — 

"  Benny,  boy,  I'm  afraid  you've  had  a  hand  in  this  business  ' 
Rascal !  you  smell  of  gunpowder !  Have  you  been  shooting 
down  any  of  his  majesty's  subjects?" 

"  Ki,  maussa !  wha'  for  you  ax  'bout  tings  dere's  no  needces 
sity  yer  for  know  ?  Benny  fight  for  old  maussa,  cnty  ? — " 

"Yes,  Benny,  you  did,  faithfully  !" 

"  Maussa,  dis  Willie  Sinclair  is  jest  as  much  like  he  fadder, 
when  dere's  fighting  guine  on,  as  ef  you  bin  spit  'em  out  o'  your 
own  mout'.  He's  h — 1  for  a  charge  !" 

"  Begone,  you  rebel  rascal,  and  see  that  the  house  isn't  robbed 
to-night  by  some  of  your  rascally  dragoons !" 

"  I  guine  watch,  maussa.  Go  to  bed,  and  be  comfortable,  ef 
you  kin.  All  safe  wid  Benny." 

"  And  see  that  the  stables  are  watched,  and  that  none  of  my 
horses  are  stolen.  We  shall  want  them  all  pretty  soon." 

"  Ha  !  see  dat  de  rebbcls  t'ief  not 'ing,  enty  ?" 

"  See  that  nobody  steals,  rascal !  Do  you  suppose  that  a  ras 
cally  dragoon,  in  a  red  coat,  is  any  more  honest  than  in  a  blue  ? 
See  to  it ;  and  on  the  first  sign  of  trouble,  go  to  Lord  Rawdon 
—  with  my  respects,  you  hear!" 


THE  SURPRISE.  21.1 

yeddy,  maussa !     God  bress  von,  maussa,  an*  de  bes'  ob 

eeps !" 

We  need  scarcely  report  that  the  long  interval,  in  which  the 
father  was  kept  waiting  for  the  attendance  of  the  faithful  Benny 
and  Little  Peter,  was  consumed  by  these  two  favorite  sons  of 
Ethiop,  on  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  in  a  close  conference  with 
their  master's  son.  Touching  their  share  in  the  skirmish,  we 
dhall  be  as  chary  of  our  revelations  as  Benny  himself.  We 
half  suspect,  however,  that  the  ancient  hound  was  simply  a 
looker-on.  It  is  quite  evident,  nevertheless,  that  he  was  not 
unwilling  that  hisjold  master  should  suspect  him  of  a  more  ac 
tive  participation*!!!  the  game.  Benny  Bowlegs  had  his  vanity 
as  well  as  his  master. 

There  was  no  further  alarm  that  night ;  though,  from  the  en 
terprising  character  of  Willie  Sinclair,  Rawdon  had  his  appre 
hensions.  He  prepared  for  an  attempt  at  beating  up  his  quar 
ters.  But  Sinclair's  policy  was  more  profound.  He  calculated 
upon  the  preparations  of  the  British,  and  felt  that  he  could  gain 
nothing  by  an  assault  upon  a  superior  force,  under  a  veteran 
general,  who  counted  on  his  attempt.  By  withdrawing  from 
the  scene,  and  suffering  the  enemy  to  march  without  molesta 
tion  for  five  miles  the  next  day,  he  succeeded  in  effecting  some 
thing  like  a  surprise  when  he  dashed  at  their  rear,  which  he 
did  at  that  distance  from  the  barony.  And,  bold  and  confident 
in  the  superiority  of  his  cavalry,  lie  continued  to  harass  the  en 
emy  until  they  were  in  sight  of  Orangeburg,  when  he  drew  off 
his  squadron  coolly,  and  retired  into  the  thickets  at  a  trot. 

He  had  done  a  handsome  thing  in  these  passages-at-arms,  and 
had  really  lost  few  men,  not  more  than  half-a-dozen  in  all,  and 
as  many  wounded.  Jekyll  had  reported  wishes  rather  than 
facts  in  this  matter.  But  the  affair  had  cost  Sinclair  much  time, 
Avhich  was  precious  to  him  in  the  chase  after  Bertha  Travis  and 
her  mother.  Still,  the  event  was  not  to  be  avoided.  Opportu 
nity  came  in  his  way,  and,  as  a  soldier,  he  was  bound  to  seize 
it.  Inglehardt  had  crossed  the  path  of  St.  Julien,  and,  in  worst 
ing  and  pursuing  him,  the  latter  had  failed  at  the  rendezvous. 
Sinclair  had  become  anxious  on  account  of  his  lieutenant,  and 
had  ridden  up,  to  find  him  engaged  in  the  work  of  harassing 
the  far  superior  force,  nu:ludii!«r  that  of  Inglehardt,  which  was 


212  EUTAW. 

led  by  Jekyll.  It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  a  bold  drrgeon  t 
forbear  "  a  hack"  at  Rawdon's  escort,  particularly  with  the  p'\>s 
pect  of  killing  or  capturing  that  nobleman  himself.  Some  mio 
chief  was  done  to  the  enemy  —  a  few  more  victims  gleaned  from 
the  saddles  of  Inglehardt  and  the  infantry  of  Jekyll  —  but  the 
march  of  his  lordship  was  too  compact,  his  flanks  too  well  guard 
ed,  and  all  too  vigilant  under  his  fine  military  eye,  to  suffer  our 
partisans  to  make  any  decided  impression.  They  were  suffi 
ciently  well  satisfied  with  what  they  had  done,  and  only  with 
drew  from  the  pursuit  when  a  reinforcement  from  Stewart  was  to 
be  seen  marching  out  from  Orangeburg  to  the  succor  of  the  wea 
ried  and  vexed  escort  of  Rawdon. 

And  now  to  seek  and  recover  the  Travis's — husband  and 
wife,  son  and  daughter.  But  how  —  and  where?  Had  the 
ladies  reached  Nelson's  ferry  in  safety,  or  were  they  wandering 
still  —  in  what  direction  —  how  baffled  —  surrounded  by  what 
dangers  ?  A  breathing-spell  from  the  actual  pressure  of  conflict 
brought  all  these  queries  painfully  to  the  mind  of  Willie  Sin 
clair.  He  had  no  doubt  that  the  two  ladies,  of  whom  he  had 
heard,  as  rescued  by  Rawdon  from  the  Florida  refugees,  were 
Bertha  and  her  mother ;  but  three  days  had  elapsed,  and  where 
were  they  now  ?  What,  too,  of  Captain  Travis  and  Henry  ? 
Where  were  they?  Inglehardt,  he  now  knew,  was  with  Raw 
don.  He  had  tried  very  earnestly  to  make  a  swoop  especially 
at  him,  but  the  cautious  policy  of  Inglehardt  himself,  and  the 
strength  of  the  British  infantry,  had  defeated  all  his  well-meant 
endeavors. 

Hardly  knowing  where  to  turn,  it  was  still  necessary  that 
Willie  Sinclair  should  keep  in  motion,  if  only  to  quiet  or  stay 
the  annoyance  of  his  obtrusive  doubts  and  fears.  He  posted 
once  more  down  the  road  for  Nelson's  ferry,  thinking  it  possible 
that  he  might  hear  of  the  safety,  at  least,  of  the  ladies  ho  pur 
sued. 

It  is  time  that  we,  too,  should  look  after  them.  We  have 
seen  them  refusing  to  accept  the  hospitalities  of  Sinclair  bar 
ony,  and  continuing  their  progress  without  any  present  prospect 
of  interruption.  But  the  ocean  was  not  quite  smooth  yet,  though 
the  storm,  for  the  time,  was  over ;  and  our  fair  travellers  were 
destined  to  a  protracted  denial  of  their  objects.  They  had 


THE   SURPRISE. 

probably  left  the  barony  some  two  hours,  and  were  beginning 
to  meditate  the  question  of  their  sleeping-place  at  night,  when 
they  suddenly  encountered  a  horseman  at  ful1.  gallop,  Itcuuftng 
toward  them.  As  he  drew  nigh,  it  was  seen  that  he  was  a  EO- 
gro.  A  nearer  approach  made  Cato  the  driver  uneasy  with  a 
sentiment  of  delight. 

"Ha  !  I  know  dat  pusson  !  He  is  !  I  know  'em"'  —  ho  mut 
tered  ;  then  loudly  —  "  I  does  know  'em  for  true." 

"  Who  is  it,  Cato?"  The  ladies  began  to  grow  aneasy  .. ;  . 
The  fellow  answered  his  own  thought  rather  than  the  query  of 
his  mistress. 

"  Yes !  da  him  for  true.  Da  'Bram,  Mass  Major  Sinclar's 
sarbant." 

'  'Bram  !"  exclaimed  the  ladies  with  one  breath.  They  wer3 
as  much  delighted  as  they  would  have  been  at  the  mee'ing  wi'jh 
a  friendly  regiment.  It  was  with  equal  joy  that  'Bram  recog 
nised  the  party. 

"  Wha' !  da  you,  Missis  Trabis  ?  da  you,  Miss  Bert'a  ?  I  60 
glad  !  But  whay  you  bin  ?  whay  you  guine  ?" 

"  To  Nelson's  ferry,  'Bram." 

"  Oh,  1  so  grad  I  meet  you,  jest  de  right  time  !  Tu'n  back  j 
tu'n  into  de  woods  —  any  whay.  De  inimy  is  in  de  pat' !  D*i 
etanial  varmint,  Hell-fire  Dick,  'pon  de  road  below.  I  dodge 
'em,  free  mile  back,  by  short  cut  t'rough  de  woods.  I  lucky 
for  see  'em  pass,  'fore  he  kin  see  me.  He's  down  at  leetle  oV 
tabern  day  'pon  de  road  —  him  and  tree,  fibe  more  black,  infer 
nal  varmint  like  hese'f.  He  da  drink  whiskey  —  all  ob  '^m 
drink  —  and  dey  jes'  been  a-gitting  ready  for  mount  de  hos;r — 
only  dey  stop  for  talk  and  'noder  drink.  Dey  was  coming  iij. , 
Das  wha'  mek  ins,  soon  as  I  kin  git  t 're ugh  de  woods  and  head 
ob  dem  —  das  wha'  mek  me  heel  it  at  fast  gallop.  Tu'n  out 
yer  in  de  woods.  Yer  !  I  know  de  way.  Der's  de  fiel'  yer. 
We  guine  t'rough  dat.  Dat'll  carry  we  to  de  ole  neighborhood 
road  yer,  down  free  mile  off  to  de  old  widow  Abinger.  He 
bery  good  woman  dat  —  frien'  to  we  party.  I  know  all  'bout 
dis  cour.try.  Why,  jes'  a  mile  or  two  back  is  de  piace  of  my 
young  raissis,  Carrie  Siriclar;  but  he  all  bu'n  down,  'cept  ole 
house  we  bin  let  Pete  Elodgit  lib  in.  Tu'n  'bout,  Cato  —  you  hat 
no  time  for  loss.  Hell-fire  Dick  ride  like  mad  when  he  drunk.' 


u  Oh,  yes,  Cato  S  follow  'Brain's  dirtctions.  Bo  not  suffer 
that  incnster  to  see  u.%  or  suspect  our  neighborhood." 

C&to  did  not  like  to  be  tossed  about  under  other  guidance 
to. in  liis  own,  and  ho  would  have  paused  for  other  and  fuller 
e^v  T  uiatious,  but  'Bram  cut  him  short. 

'  Ch,  tu'n  in,  nigger,  and  no  more  talk !  'Tain't  no  time, 
jest  /')w,  to  hab  de  eel  skin.  Take  de  trute  wid  de  skin  on, 
jcs:  as  1  tsM:  you.  Tu'n  about,  jest  t'rough  dat  crack  in  de 
W3oda.  I  szow  you  de  way." 

And  tha  fellow  went  ahead.  Cato  growled,  but  followed ; 
ana,  as  so:n  as  they  had  turned  out  of  the  sandy  road  and  into 
the  thicket,  'Bram  jumped  from  his  horse,  ran  back  to  the  road, 
iviid  rolled  over  repeatedly  where  the  carriage-tracks  had  been 
rnada.  You  would  have  supposed  the  impressions  to  be  those 
of  a  do'-.eu  well-fed  hogs.  But  the  wheel-tracks  were  obliter 
ated.  The  performance  consumed  only  a  few  minutes,  when 
ne  rejoined  the  carriage  ;  and,  after  crossing  an  old  indigo-field, 
^hey  found  themselves  in  a  road  which  was  seldom  travelled, 
and  was  now  overgrown  with  oaken  bushes.  This  they  pur- 
cued  for  two  miles,  when  they  came  into  a  clearing,  evidently  v 
t^.at  of  an  old  place.  The  fences  were  in  decay,  the  fields  had 
l.-ecn  abandoned,  and  were  grown  up  in  weeds.  No  sound  of 
lowing  steer,  or  bleating  calf,  or  crowing  cock,  indicated  life 
The  region  appeared  a  dreary  solitude.  But,  at  tho  opposite  01 
lower  end  of  the  clearing,  our  travellers  discovered  a  dwelling 
emerging  from  among  a  dense  clump  of  oaks  and  cedars. 

Thither  they  drove,  keeping  along  tho  edge  of  the  wood,  un 
dsi  Brain's  guidance.  He,  meanwhile,  described  the  wido\\ 
who  inhabited  the  place,  Mrs.  Avinger,  as  a  person  highly  re 
spected,  a  devout  Christian,  a  sad,  broken  •hearted  woman,  but 
strong,  calm,  stern  —  one  whose  age,  peculiar  character,  anc 
sorrows,  had  saved  her  somewhat  from  the  brutal  usages  of  such 
a  war  as  the  country  had  witnessed.  'Bram  described  her  also 
as  a  true  patriot,  upon  whose  faith  and  friendly  offices  they 
could  confidently  rely. 

"  You  guine  stay  here,  Missis  Trabis — you  and  Misc  Bert'a, 
till  I  kin  scout  about,  and  see  ef  de  pat'  is  clair.  But  'twon't 
do  for  you  to  risk  anyt'ing  so  long  as  dat  bloody  varmint  is 
fcbout." 


THE    SURPRISE. 


215 


They  reached  the  house,  and  found  the  matron  at  the  door,  a 
stately  gray-headed  old  woman,  in  a  mob-cap,  in  the  plainest 
blue  homespun,  wearing  a  face  of  the  most  remarkable  gravity 
— serene  and  grave — very  sad  withal — but  with  something  so 
sweet  in  her  voice,  and  so  winning  as  well  as  commanding  in 
her  eye,  that  our  two  ladies  were  sensibly  influenced  in  her  favor  in 
the  moment  when  they  saw  her.  They  craved  only  present 
shelter,  reserving  their  explanations  for  another  moment.  They 
were  welcomed,  and,  when  they  had  alighted,  entered  the  house, 
and  taken  in  their  luggage,  which  wras  necessarily  in  as  small  a  com 
pass  as  possible,  'Bram  said  to  Cato: — 

"Now,  Cato,  my  boy,  fuss  t'ing,  wre  must  hide  away  de  car 
riage  and  hoss  in  some  good  tick  [thick,  or  thicket],  for  we  doesn't 
know,  any  minute,  who's  aguine  to  come  'pon  we." 

'Bram  was  too  good  a  scout,  not  to  suggest  a  like  warning  to  the 
two  ladies. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Trabis,  de  house  hab  two  'tories;  bes'  you  and 
Miss  Bert'a  keep  up  'tars,  so  long  as  you  guine  'tay  yer.  Dor's  no 
knowing  wha'  we  hab  for  'speck  [expect]  sence  dese  varmints  is 
about;  and  then  dar's  some  red-coats  'long  de  road  besides.  I  bin 
pass  'em  dis  morning." 

This  was  said  in  the  presence  of  the  widow  Avinger,  who  added: 
"The  advice  is  good,  ladies;  I  sometimes  have  very  wild  visitors. 
They  do  not  trouble  me,  since  I  have  nothing  much  to  plunder;  and 
they  know  me — my  age  protects  me." 

And  she  might  have  added,  "her  known  virtues,"  for  she  was 
the  good  Samaritan  of  the  precinct  who  poured  balsam  equally 
into  the  wounds  of  friends  and  foes — who  ever  needed.  Our 
lady-travellers  soon  understood  her  character.  Her  natural 
dignity  of  bearing,  free  from  pride  or  insolence,  compelled 
respect  ;  her  mild  regard,  manner,  and  language,  won  it;  her 
tones  of  voice  secured  it;  and,  altogether,  the  strangers  felt 
themselves  quite  as  much  at  home  with  her  in  twrenty  minutes,  as  if 
they  had  known  her  for  twenty  years.  He  house  was  kept 
in  excellent  order.  The  hall  was  whitely  sanded:  a  little  book- 
rase  of  pine,  without  doors,  stood  upon  a  shelf,  and  held 
A  dozen  'volumes,  but  of  what  sort  Bertha  could  not  say,  though 
she  noted  them  at  a  distance,  as  she  felt,  at  that  moment,  no 
curiosity,  to  look  into  books.  And  when  they  went'  to  their 


216  ECTTAW. 

chamber,  which  they  soon  did,  in  compliance  with  the  sugges 
tion  of  the  widow  herself,  they  found  everything  clean  and 
tolerably  comfortable.  But  the  same  prudent  caution  which 
prompted  them  to  retire  early,  and  keep  up-stairs,  denied  them 
any  light.  The  widow  herself  brought  up  supper,  which  they 
partook  together  in  the  twilight ;  and  thus  they  sat  conver 
sing  in  the  growing  darkness,  while  a  bright  fire  was  blazing  ID 
the  chimney  below. 

An  hour  had  not  passed  before  they  had  proof  of  the  wisdom 
of  all  these  precaution^,  *}  hey  heard  the  gallop  @f  a  horse 
approaching  the  house.  The  widow  hurried  down  stairs,  and 
took  her  knitting  in  her  lap  by  the  firelight.  Her  eyes  were 
good.  In  these  days  spectacles  wrere  scarcely  known  in 
America,  except  among  speculative  philosophers.  They  had 
not  grown  into  a  luxury  and  ornament  at  least.  Thus  quietly 
busied,  the  widow  was  prepared  for  the  unknown  visiter,  while 
the  ladies  kept  mute  as  mice  up-stairs. 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  who  should  appear  upon  the 
threshold,  but  the  very  person  who  was  so  much  dreaded  — 
if  ell-fire  Dick  himself. 

It  would  be  idle  to  say  that  the  widow  was  not  terrified.  She 
could  not  but  regard  such  a  visit  as  coincident  with  that  of  the 
two  ladies  whom  she  had  in  her  house,  and  who  had  expressed 
such  apprehensions  of  him.  He  must  have  found  and  followed 
their  tracks  in  spite  of  'Bram's  precautions.  But,  concealing 
b3r  real  alarm  —  though  it  sounded  the  drum  of  terror  in  her 
Ii3art,  whose  beatings  she  felt  and  fancied  that  she  heard,  she 
received  the  unwelcome  visiter  with  a  grave  and  serene  aspect, 
'1,  was  not  surprised  to  see  him  doff  his  cap  as  he  entered 
Ho  had  always  shown  a  greater  degree  of  reverence  for  her 
than  for  anybody  else.  There  was  a  reason  for  this  of  which 
w  .'  shall  hear  presently.  She  spoke  to  him  civilly,  and  he 
•valked  in  and  seated  himself  by  the  fireside ;  and  he  did  this 
us  courteously  as  it  was  posbible  to  such  an  un'-utored  monster 
it  vtfs  not  in  his  power  to  subdue  utterly  his  rough  t^nes,  his 
mu.-K  ami  .mseemly  utterances,  and  his  rude  and  vulgar  bearing. 
Besidea,  he  was  drunk.  That  the  widow  perceived  in  his  rolling 
<••>  -ad  the  thickness  of  his  voice,  yet  he  managed  to  walk 


HELL-FIRE   DICK   TAKES   TO   LITERATURE.  l.'h 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Avinger,  you're  well,  I  see  ;  and  I'm  glad  to  see 
»i.  Here :  I've  brought  you  a  little  sack  of  salt —  I  thought 
you'd  like  it.  It's  a  mighty  scarce  article." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Andrews.  It  is  a  very  scarce 
article.  I  have  tasted  none  for  months." 

"  You'll  like  this  the  better  then." 

There  was  an  effort  at  civility  and  decency  in  the  fellow's 
voice  and  manner,  which,  though  it  only  served  to  distinguish 
his  roughness,  was  a  surprise  to  the  widow,  no  less  than  his 
presence.  The  whole  affair  was  a  surprise. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  ain't  come  for  a  long  .visit,  and  I  s'pose 
you  don't  much  care  to  see  much  of  me.  I  reckon  not." 

The  widow  could  not  gainsay  this. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  I  don't  bring  yi  u  the  salt  for  nothing ; 
I  wants  to  trade  on  it." 

"  I  have  no  money,  Mr.  Andrews.  You  know  my  poverty  as 
well  as  I  do  myself." 

"  'Tain't  money  I'm  awanting.  I  wants  one  of  your  booke 
there.  I  know'd  yoa  iad  books,  and  I  come  for  one  of  'em ; 
and  ef  you're  not  for  giving,  I'll  hev  to  take  it,  whe'r  you  will 
or  not." 

"  Oh  !  that  you  shall  not  do,  Mr.  Andrews.  I  will  cheerfully 
give  you  one  of  my  books — a  good  book  —  one  of  the  best  1 
have." 

Well,  I  don't  care  which.  I'm  not  a  reader  —  had  no  lam 
ing,  and  am  so  much  the  worse  for  it.  But  I  s'pose  a  good  book 
is  better  than  a  bad  one,  and  I'm  for  the  good  always,  by — " 

"Through  God — by  God's  mercies  —  I  suppose  you  mean, 
Mr.  Andrews." 

"  Well,  d — n  me,  ef  thai  ain't  a  nice  way  to  turn  an  oath  into 
a  prayer ;  but  we  won't  quarrel,  ole  lady,  'bout  that.  Hev  it  as 
you  will.  Only  give  me  the  book." 

The  surprise  of  the  widow  had  grown  prodigiously ;  but  she 
arose,  calmly,  and  having  seen  from  the  fellow's  face  that  he 
was  realty  serious  in  his  request,  she  went  to  the  little  book 
case,  Jtnd  brought  him  a  well-thumbed  volume — dingy  of  as 
pect —  clumsy  of  shape  —  antique  of  type — altogether  a  very 
rusty  sample  of  a  very  rusty  edition. 

H?  took  t1  e  book  from  her  hands  rather  hastily,  and  opened  H 


218  EUTAW. 

There  was  a  rude  engraving  in  front,  apparently  from  a  wooden 
clock.  It  exhibited  a  weary  traveller  ascending  a  hill  with  &L 
enormous  pack  upon  his  back.  On  the  hill  was  a  castle ;  and 
in  front  of  the  castle,  a  terrible  giant  armed  with  a  club.  Dick  of 
Tophet  examined  this  plate  with  silent  wonderment  for  awhile 

"  It's  a  hard  fight  that  old  fellow  has  ahead  of  him,  I  reckon 
tie  won't  make  a  mouthful  for  that  big  chap  with  the  club ;  and, 
with  sich  a  bundle  on  his  back,  he  kain't  hardly  git  up  the  hill. 
Ef  he's  to  fight,  the  sooner  he  flings  down  the  bundle  the  better 
for  him." 

"  He'd  like  to  do  it  if  he  could." 

"And  why  kain't  he,  I  wonder?" 

"  Because  the  bundle  contains  all  his  sine.  The  bundle  U 
sin  !  and  sin  sticks  to  him." 

"  You're  not  poking  fun  at  me,  ole  lady  ?" 

"  Me  !"  and  the  glance  which  she  gave  him  seemed  to  say, '  Is 
mine  the  face,  or  mine  the  tongue,  or  mine  the  heart,  for  merri- 
lent  V  And  the  look  subdued  him. 

"  Well,  ole  lady,  what's  the  book  about  ?" 

"  It  is  called  '  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  It  shows  the  labors  of  a 
sinful  man  trying  to  free  himself  from  the  burden  of  sin,  and 
make  his  way  to  God." 

"  Hard  work  that !  Much  easier  gitting  the  sin  than  gitting 
free  from  it  you  say  :  eh  !  ole  lady  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

•  And  d— n  it,  don'l  L  know  it  ?  But,  you  give  me  the  book  for 
the  salt,  eh  ?" 

"  It  should  be  yours,  Mr,  Andrews,  even  had  you  brought  me 
nothing- 
She  longed  to  asked  him  what  he  designed  to  do  with  the 
book.  He  little  knew  the  pang  it  cost  her  to  part  with  it.  It 
had  been  the  cherished  volume  of  a  favorite  son,  and  she  wept 
its  loss  when  the  ruffian  had  gone.  But  she  feared  to  ask  any 
questions  of  such  a  ruffian ;  and  when  she  had  declared  her 
assent,  he  rose  abruptly  —  stuck  the  book  into  his  pocket,  and 
thrusting  his  hand  out  to  her,  said  : — 

"  You've  a  good  woman,  ole  lady.  Ef  the  world  was  full  of 
vich  good  people  as  you,  I'd  ha'  bin  a  better  body  myself.  But 
it's  no  ube  to  talk.  I  tell  you.  >lc  lady,  I've  got  a  d d  jjigk1.'. 


ilELL-FIRE   DICK   T    KES    iO   LITERATURE*  21tf 

bigger  bundle  of  sin  on  my  shoulders  than  even  tha.  ole  fellow 
yoa  see  guine  up  hill ;  and  I  kin  no  more  shake  it  off  thau  him." 

"  But  he  did  shake  it  off." 

"  Did  he  !  But  I  reckon  he  had  never  been  in  the  dragoon 
sarvice.  So  good  night,  ole  lady.  I'm  obliged  to  you,  by  the 
hokies!" 

And  the  ruffian  disappeared  as  he  came  —  no  search — no 
question  about  the  ladies — no  word  of  hostility,  suspicion,  strife. 
It  was  evident  that  he  came  for  the  one  object  only  —  the  ac 
quisition  of  a  book  —  it  mattered  not  of  what  sort. 

The  widow  was  never  more  confounded  in  her  life.  When, 
afterward,  she  talked  over  the  affair,  tip-stairs,  with  her  two 
guests,  she  added  —  and  her  eyes  filled  anew  : — 

"  I  parted  with  a  treasure  when  I  gave  him  that  book.  It 
was  my  youngest  son's.  Two  sons  fell  in  battle  at  Oaraden, 
fighting  for  the  country,  and  the  third,  my  poor  Gustavus,  a 
youth  of  nineteen  only,  was,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  butchered 
by  this  same  man,  Andrews,  in  a  miserable  affray  at  a  tavern 
foelow  —  perhaps  the  very  one  where  the  man  has  lately  been 
tlrinking.  My  boy  was  totally  unarmed,  but  he  gave  some 
)ffence,  I  know  not  what,  to  this  outlaw  and  his  associates, 
blows  ensued,  and  my  boy  was  stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a 
bayonet.  He  was  brought  home  to  me  a  corpse.  I  am  alone 
in  the  world  ;  and  this  man,  Andrews,  has  bereaved  me  of  every 
comfort." 

The  ladies  wondered  how  she  could  endure  the  sight  of  such 
s  monster. 

'  Ah !"    she  answered,  "  if  God  endures  it   patiently,  why 
Wouldn't  I  ?     In  his  time,  and  at  his  pleasure,  justice  will  be 

0  r»ne  to  the  criminal.     I  wish  for  no  revenge.     I  try  to  pray 
t.ven  for  the  murderer,  though  I  confess  I  am  still  too  little  of 

*  o  Christian,  not  to  feel  a  sinful  bitterness  of  spirit,  when  he 

-  omes  into  my  house,  as  he  did  to-night,  and  has  the  power,  as 

1  know,  to  butcher  me  as  he  did  my  son.     But  he  feels,  ladies, 
he  feels !     It  is  some  little  feeling  of  remorse,  that  still  keeps 
alive  in  his  heart,  lik  ,  a  coal  of  fire  in  the  ashes,  that  makes  him 
'jivil  and  respectful  to  me,  and  to  no  one  else.     And  that  little 
coal  may  yet  kindle,  even  in  his  soul,  a  saving  fire  that  shaV 
.yarm  it  re  lift  " 


220  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOW    NELLY    FLOYD    BECOMES    MYSTICAL. 

FOR  several  days  our  fair  friends  were  kept  in  durance,  at 
the  lonely  harborage  of  the  widow  Avinger;  but  it  was  not  a 
durance  vile,  since  they  found  that  venerable  lady  not  simply  a 
imvk,  good  Samaritan  Christian,  but  a  woman  of  excellent  intelli 
gence  besides.  She  had  enjoyed  a  large  experience  of  life,  and 
she  had  the  sort  of  talent  which  enabled  her  to  deliver  her  experi 
ence  with  effect  and  spirit.  She  was  considerate,  in  the  extreme,  of 
the  comfort  of  her  guests,  and  listened  to  their  narrative,  which 
they  freely  unfolded,  with  a  sympathizing  interest.  She  could  well 
understand  the  embarrassments  of  their  situation  and  progress,  and 
the  dangers  that  threatened  the  father  and  the  son,  in  the  bonds 
of  a  cruel  selfish,  unscrupulous  enemy.  The  condition  of  the 
country  left  the  weak  almost  wholly  without  security,  in  the  hands  of 
the  powerful. 

Meanwhile,  'Bram  was  busy  scouting  all  the  while,  and  bring 
ing  in  nightly  reports  of  what  he  saw  and  feared.  It  was,  per 
haps,  somewhat  an  objection  to  'Bram,  that,  like  the  apostle,  he 
was  wont  to  magnify  his  office.  To  exaggerate  the  sense  of 
his  own  services,  and  their  importance,  it  was  perhaps  necessary 
that  the  threatened  dangers  should  also  be  beheld  through  an 
enlarging  medium;  and  'Bram  was  especially  careful  to  set  this 
medium  properly  before  the  e}Tes  of  those  he  served,  whenever 
his  own  uses,  and  the  performances  in  which  he  was  engaged 
were  the  subjects  of  discussion.  It  is  possible — possible,  we 
say— that  Mrs.  Travis  and  her  daughter  might  have  been  ena 
bled  to  resume  their  journey  a  day  or  t\vo  sooner  than  they  did 
—but  for  this  exaggerating  habit  of  our  friend  'Bram;  though 


HOW   NELLY    FLOYD    BECOMES    MYSTICAL. 

vo  suggest  the  notion  with  some  scrupulosity.  It  may  t  -,  4V  * .* 
t^a  danger  was  still  in  the  path,  and,  if  so,  it  was  ce.  .?;:J;  •* 
danger  to  be  feared,  as  the  experience  of  our  lady-tra -ei.e:-; 
h.nd  already  shown  them.  No  doubt  that  Dick  of  Tophet,  aiil 
some  of  his  followers  —  and  others,  perhaps,  quite  as  great  ras 
cals  as  himself— -were  lurking  or  loitering  in  the  neighborhood. 
There  was  some  motive  to  it,  among  the  class  of  people,  in  a 
rfort  of  tippling  tavern,  kept  by  one  Griffith,  a  lame  man,  about 
three  miles  off.  Here,  the  scouts  found  resort ;  here,  detach 
ments  passing  to  and  fro  in  their  progress  up  and  down,  usually 
stopped  for  refreshment.  Here,  recruiting  sergeants  spread 
their  golden  baits  before  simple  boys,  enjoying  their  first  intox 
icating  draughts  of  license  and  Jamaica.  Here,  in  brief,  w«3 
the  rendezvous  of  Motley,  with  all  her  tribes  —  the  vagrant, 
vicious,  worthless,  selfish,  scoundrelly,  F^vage,  and  merely  mis 
chievous,  who  love  to  follow  in  he»  crsin,  and  sweL  the  chorus 
of  her  discordant  jubilees.  It  vas  from  this  harborage  that 
Dick  of  Tophet  and  his  gang,  set  forth,  swollen  with  rum,  on 
that  memorable  expedition  to  the  quarters  of  Pete  Blodgit — as 
narrated  in  a  preceding  volume  —  where  they  did  not  surprise 
Willie  Sinclair,  and  discovered,  for  the  first  time,  and  by  the 
purest  accident,  that  they  had  lost  a  hundred  guineas.  Of 
course,  Dick  of  Tophet  knew  the  region  well,  and  it  knew  him 
He  rather  loved  to  linger  in  the  precinct  as  it  afforded  him  that 
sort  of  rough-colt  fellowship  which  was  most  grateful  to  his 
tastes.  There  were  some  precious  rascals  about,  with  whom  K 
gained  and  drank  and  quarrelled  ;  who  feared,  but  sought  him  ; 
and  who  found  it  profitable  to  be  associated  with  one  BO  reck 
less  of  his  money  —  when  he  had  it  —  even  though  at  the  peril 
of  a  broken  head  from  his  savage  and  capricious  humors. 

But  to  read)  this  Elysian  region,  Dick  had  now  to  rid?  a  good 
many  miles  —  assuming  that  to  be  his  proper  locale  and  haiimp; 
centre,  for  the  present,  in  which  he  kept  the  captives  of  him 
self  and  Ingleliardt.  Still,  as  he  was  a  headlong  rider,  and  al 
ways  contrived  to  keep  himself  in  a  good  horse,  the  difficulty 
was  one  of  only  occasional  embarrassmerl  He  was  of  too 
restless  a  nature  tc  heed  fatigue,  and  had  tec  great  a  passion 
fci  excitement,  to  ke?p  away  from  itG  scer.ee  of  exercise  for  any 
reason.  >\n'i  tH>«  l>  ».tn-  that,  hnvirg  pmHecl  proper  l??eperp 


222  EUTAW. 

for  Travis  and  his  son,  among  the  congeries  of  swamp-fastness, 
that  spread  down  from  the  branches  of  the  Four-Holes,  and  al 
most  mingle  with  those  that  spread  up,  in  like  manner,  from  the 
waters  of  the  Cooper,  he  had  given  himself,  as  it  were,  a  respite  from 
confinement  himself,  by  undertaking  daily  expeditions  on  the  re 
cruiting  service.  Such  was  the  mission  that  took  him  to  Griffith's 
and  other  places,  favorable  to  this  object,  while  Inglehardt  was  doing 
duty  in  the  field. 

It  was  here  at  Griffith's  that  'Bram  saw  Dick  of  Tophet  on 
each  of  his  scouting  progresses.  It  was  upon  this  establishment 
that  'Bram  kept  special  watch.  He  knew  its  repute,  and  the 
fact  that,  in  going  down  upon  the  river  road,  it  was  absolutely 
unavoidable  that  the  carriage  should  pass  this  place,  rendered 
it  necessary,  before  the  party  could  safely  proceed,  that  the  en 
emy  should  be  temporarily  withdrawn.  It  would  have  been 
easy,  perhaps,  for  the  ladies,  had  they  been  on  horseback,  to 
have  "fetched  a  compass "  through  the  woods  for  a  few  miles, 
and  avoided  exposure  to  the  danger  from  this  quarter,  but  the 
lumbersome  caroch  of  that  day,  drawn  by  four  great  horses,  was 
quite  another  thing.  It  was  a  question  with  the  ladies  whether 
they  might  not  take  the  back  track,  find  their  way  into  some 
other  road,  and  escape  the  difficulty  by  extending  their  circuit. 
But  what  might  be  the  obstruction  upon  other  roads  ?  In  all 
probability  they  would  encounter  similar  embarrassments — perhaps 
greater — the  farther  they  receded  from  the  Santcc  in  the  direction 
of  the  Four-Holes.  They  concluded  after  duly  discussing  the 
whole  subject,  to  wait  patiently  and  follow  the  course  of 
opportunity. 

'Bram  and  Cato,  meanwhile,  were  to  keep  in  due  exercise  as 
scouts  and  spies.  'Bram  was  sufficiently  flexible  for  this  em 
ployment,  and  rather  liked  it ;  but  not  so  Cato.  He  too  greatly 
resembled  the  venerable  Roman  from  whom  he  had  borrowed 
so  appropriate  a  name,  and  was  too  stiff  in  the  joints  for  stoop 
ing;  too  feeble  of  back  for  crawling;  too  dim  of  sight  for  shar£ 
seeing  ;  and  too  stubborn  of  morale  readily  to  accommodate  him 
self  to  circumstance.  He  could  fight  fearlessly  enough,  and  was 
rather  more  quick  to  do  so  than  'Bram ;  but  like  his  great 
namesake,  he  would  have  found  it  easier  to  require  Greek  in 
his  old  age,  than  the  nice  little.1  ucij'.ils,  ;r>-l  :1y  jMr.ctifes,  and 


HOW    NELLY   FLOYD    BECOMES   MYSTICAL.  ?2l 

cunning  expedients,  wliicli  are  necessary  to  the  education  of  .«. 
scout.  Accordingly,  'Bram  soon  found  Cato  in  liis  way,  rathe: 
than  a  help,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  persuade  him  that  it  was 
more  properly  Jus  duty,  to  stay  perdu,  with  his  mistress,  and, 
armed  with  a  good  bull-mouthed  pistol,  to  serve  as  sentinel  ovt* 
the  garrison. 

So  'Bram  scouted  alone;  and  one  day  he  had  the  fortune  io 
see,  from  his  cover  on  the  edge  of  the  road,  the  redoubtable 
Dirk  of  Tophet  riding  up  the  road  with  no  less  than  fiv3  fol 
lowers,  all  armed  after  a  fashion,  with  broadsword,  or  pistols, 
or  rifle,  or  fowling-piece,  no  two  with  the  same  weapons,  and 
Dick  of  Tophet  alone,  doubly  armed,  with  sword  and  pistols. 
When  they  had  fairly  passed,  'Bram  conceived  the  opportunity 
to  be  good  for  emancipating  the  ladies.  But  it  was  first  neces 
sary  to  look  to  Griffith's,  which,  as  he  fancied,  would  be  now 
empty.  But  here,  to  his  dismay,  he  found  a  party  of  half  a 
dozen  more,  with  a  score  of  beagles  lying  in  the  road,  preparing 
to  beat  the  woods  in  a  hunt  for  deer. 

The  event  filled  him  with,  consternation.  Should  the  mini 
lead  the  party  into  the  thicket  of  the  widow  Avinger,  where  the 
carriage  and  horses  of  Mrs.  Travis  were  concealed  !  Our  scout, 
hurried  homeward  with  desperate  misgivings,  and,  having  suffi 
ciently  alarmed  the  ladies,  he  watched  and  waited  momently  foi 
that  invasion  of  the  premises  which  might  call  upon  his  valor 
for  the  best  defence.  It  was  in  a  moment  like  this,  that  the 
genius  of  'Bram  rather  paled  before  that  of  Cato.  The  Roman 
spirit  of  the  latter  rose  sensibly  with  the  idea  that  he  was  to  be 
engaged,  in  the  sight  of  his  mistress,  with  arms  in  his -hands, 
and  in  a  conflict  which,  so  far  from  requiring,  forbade  skulk 
ing,  sneaking,  or  any  practice  which  demanded  a  sacrifice  oi 
dignity. 

Poor  'Bram  little  knew  what  mischief  he  had  done.  In  less 
than  an  hour  after  his  hurried  retreat  from  the  roadside,  Dick 
of  Tophet  and  his  party  might  have  been  seen,  pushing  down 
the  road  at  full  speed,  followed  hotly  by  all  the  squadron  ol 
Willie  Sinclair  in  desperate  chase.  Tne  hunters  at  Griffith ^ 
were  among  the  hunted  ;  arid  the  whole  party  were  soon  in  fligh* 
oell-mell,  seeking  cover  in  the  swamps  below,  which  they 


, ::  t  EUTAW. 

:v.xcliud  after  a  hard  run,  and  with  the  loss  of  two  horses,*  and 

ucalps  of  their  owners,  by  the  way. 

Dick  of  Tophet  acknowledged  long  after  that  tiiis  was  the 

"  \vors:  skear  that  he  ever  had  from  the  sight  of  a  bioi'Uword." 

'.ji-jlair,  meanwhile,  swept  on  like  an  arrow-flight;  and  having 

lispersed  the  marauders  temporarily,  dashed  down  to  Nelson's 
'\-rry,  where  he  could  obtain  no  tidings  of  the  fugitives.     He 

is  little  dreamed  of  their  proximity,  when  he  chased  the  Philis 
dues  of  Griffith's,  as  they  of  the  near  approach  and  passage  of  the 
very  friends  who  should  deliver  them.  From  Nelson's  ferry  our 
dragoon  pressed  downward  by  Eutaw,  thinking  it  possible  that 
the  ladies  might  have  been  forced  to  travel  on  to  Murray's  ferry 
and  calculating  incidentally  o-n.  beating  up  some  of  the  smallei 
parties  of  the  British  at  Poshee,  Watboo,  Wantoot,  and  other 
places,  on  one  side  or  other  of  his  route.  At  one  or  other  of 
these  places,  it  was  known  that  the  enemy  usually  made  sta 
tions.  Let  us  leave  him  for  awhile  on  this  wild  scamper,  and 
look  after  other  parties  that  need  our  attention. 

Colonel  Sinclair,  the  veteran,  had  already  begun  his  prepara 
tion  for  flitting  to  the  city.  His  movement  was  to  be  an  early 
one,  i.  e.,  as  soon  as  he  could  adjust  affairs,  and  harness  up  for 
the  journey.  The  barony  Avas  to  be  nailed  up.  Goods  and 
chattels  secreted  where  possible^  plate  buried;  vnne  buried;  — 
all  somewhere  in  the  swamps,  at  midnight,  and  in  the  presence 
of  but  two  witnesses.  But  we  must  not  linger  upon  such  details. 
It  is  enough  that  we  indicate  the  necessities  which  were  involved 
*n  every  removal  in  that  day,  and  under  such  circumstances. 
We  can  readily  conceive  what  anxieties  filled  the  household. 
How  the  fear  pressed  upon  father  and  daughter,  that  the  first 
tidings  they  should  receive,  after  their  departure,  would  be  of 
the  house  having  been  burned,  with  all  its  contents.  Poor  Car 
rie  looked  at  the  harpsichord  of  her  mother,  with  weeping  eyes, 
feeling  as  if  she  should  never  behold  it  again.  Every  picture 
apon  the  walls  seemed  to  look  farewell  for  ever.  No  wonder, 
poor  child,  that  she  wept  —  wept  bitterly,  as  if  about  to  separate 
from  loving  friends. 

*  We  may  he  thought  to  rank  the  horses  more  highly  than  the  riders  ir 
this  ordering  ,  'mt  we  follow  Tarleton  in  the  matter  See  the  roport?  of  hit 
losses  in  butti*;.  uial  his  regret-  n;!ar.;vrh  i  ••  ':.•  "••••  *:i '  tiorwuieii 


HOW  NELLY  FLOYD  BECOMES  MYSTICAL.  225 

"Do  not  weep,"  said  Nelly  Floyd  to  her,  as  they  sat  together  in 
Carrie  Sinclair's  chamber.  "  Do  not  weep.  The  good  God  is  above 
us.  Donotletthe.se  things  become  idols.  We  have  living  creatures 
to  love  and  worship.  And  you — oh,  you  have  those  whom  you  can 
honor,  as  well  as  love !  and  that — that  is  God's  greatest  mortal 
blessing !  Would  you  think  of  these  things  at  all,  were  it  other 
wise  ? " 

Carrie  looked  long  and  musingly  in  the  face  of  this  strange,  sad 
counsellor — that  brown  face,  that  large,  dilating  Arab  eye,  humid, 
yet  so  big  and  bright ;  that  exquistely-turned  and  expressive  mouth, 
that  grave,  spiritual  countenance — she  looked  and  wondered,  and  as 
she  mused,  and  spoke: — 

"  Nelly,  it  was  a  great  wrong  done  to  you  by  the  lady  wrho  took 
and  kept  you  so  long,  and  trained  you  so  long  and  so  well — it  was  a 
great  wrong  for  her  to  abandon  you  as  she  did." 

"Abandon  me!  Oh,  no,  dear  Miss  Sinclair,  do  not  say  that! 
Do  not  do  that  noble  lady  so  much  injustice !  She  had  to 
leave  the  country ;  but  she  would  have  taken  me  with  her, 
would  have  taken  me  to  the  world's  end — anywhere — every 
where  !  She  never  refused  or  abandoned  me.  The  act  was  my 
own." 

"But  why — why  did  you  leave  so  excellent  a  lady  ?"  demanded 
Carrie,  perhaps  incautiously;  for  a  moment  after  the  cheeks  of  the 
girl  deepened  in  color;  a  rich  crimson  diffusing  itself  over  the  brown 
cheek  till  they  glowed  transparent. 

"Ah,  do  not  ask  that ! "  she  answered.  .  "  I  had  to  leave  her.  My 
heart  bade  me  leave  her,  though  I  loved  her,  and  her  daughter — 
loved  all  very  much — more  than  anything  besides?  I  was  told  to 
eave  her.  It  was  a  command." 

"  Your  father's  ?" 

"No!  no!  I  know  not  whose  it  was.  It  was  a  voice  thai 
said  to  me — 'Go!  It  is  not  well  that  you  should  stay  here 
longer.'" 

"  A  voice?  " 

"Yes;  I  hear  it  often.  It  tells  me  what  to  do.  It  tells  me  many 
things — tlfings  of  the  past  and  things  to  come;  and  warns  me,  and 
threatens  me,  and  rebukes  me,  and  sometimes  it  encourages  me,  and 
whispers  very  sweetly  to  my  soul." 

Carrie  looked  at  her  and  mused,  then  said  frankly: — 


2?  »  EUTAW. 

<!  I  dee,  I  feel,  that  you  arc  truthful,  Nelly.  I  see  it  in  your 
V:e  —  I  feel  it  in  all  your  tones;  yet  it  is  very  certain  that 
y  ...r  language  lacks  something  or  possesses  something,  which 
makes  it  conflict  with  common  ideas.  Is  it  a  voice  in  your 
ears,  or  in  your  conscience,  that  you  hear  thus  speaking  ?" 

1 1  can  not  tell,  dear  Miss  Sinclair ;  it  is  a  voice  that  seems  to 
.  cacn  *ne  through  my  ears ;  hut  it  fills  my  heart,  my  soul,  my 
i  nought,  my  conscience  ;  and  1  have  to  obey.  And  it  teaches  me 
through  mine  eyes  also ;  though  it  may  be  that  I  dream  I  see. 
Yet  I  see  things  that  happen  afterward  ;  they  always  happen.  I 
see  many  sad  things,  that  have  not  happened  yet,  and  they  trouble 
me  very  much.  I  would  not  see  them,  if  I  could.  But  I  have 
no  choice.  I  can  not  help  it.  I  must  see  the  strange  sights.  I 
must  hear  the  strange  voice.  Now,  pray,  my  dear  Miss  Sin 
clair,  do  not  ask  me  to  tell  you  about  these  things,  for  some  of 
them  make  me  shudder  and  grieve,  and  keep  me  in  great  ter 
ror.  There  is  one  sight  that  keeps  me  very  sad  and  sorrowful, 
and  will  not  let  me  rest ;  and  now  that  I  am  better,  and  my 
wound  ceases  to  give  me  any  pain,  I  have  to  go  forth,  because 
of  that  sight,  and  see  after  a  poor  only  brother  of  mine,  whom 
I  have  to  watch  over,  and  must  try  to  save  from  a  great  and 
cruel  danger  which  threatens  him.  He  fell  into  bad  company, 
that  taught  him  to  game,  and  to  drink,  and  to  quarrel.  He  was 
one  of  the  party  that  captured  the  two  ladies.  The  old  man 
that  first  made  him  bad,  is  dead.  The  troops  of  Lord  Rawdon 
hung  him  to  a  tree.  His  son,  that  married  my  sister,  was  bad 
too ;  but  he  was  killed  at  the  same  time,  but  not  by  cord  or 
bullet.  I  saw  how  it  would  happen  before,  and  I  told  Mat  of 
it,  and  I  warned  him  of  his  own  danger ;  but  they  all  thought 
me  crazy  and  laughed  at  me,  and  drove  me  off,  and  the  old  man 
would  have  murdered  me,  but  for  Mat,  and  because  I  would 
have  rescued  the  ladies.  And  now  Mat's  in  the  woods,  with 
two  others  of  the  same  party,  and  they're  hiding  from  fear 
of  the  British  ;  and  poor  Mat  has  haidly  anything  to  eat,  and 
the  clothes  nearly  torn  from  off  his  back,  by  the  woods  and 
briers." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  all  this,  Nelly  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  see  it.  I  saw  it  all  last  night ;  and  the  voice  spoke 
to  me,  arid  told  me  T  must  p'O  and  bring  him  away  from  ihoso 


HOW   NELLY   FLOYD   BECOMES   MYSTICAL.  ^, 

bad  companions  who  would  lead  him  into  worse  danger,     .i.i-1 
so  1  must  go." 

Carrie  was  more  mystified  than  ever.  She  thought  of  all 
that  she  had  ever  heard  or  read  —  of  soothsaying,  and  second- 
sight,  and  sorcerers,  and  wizards,  witches,  and  enchanters.  But 
as  she  gazed  on  poor  Nelly  with  her  ingenuous  face,  she  smiled 
to  herself  at  the  absurdity  of  ascribing  witchcraft,  or  anything 
demoniac  to  her.  Never  was  innocent  creature  so  modest  in 
her  statements.  Nelly  saw  the  smile,  and  said  sadly : — 

"  And  do  you  think  me  crazy  too,  dear  Miss  Sinclair?" 

"  Far  from  it,  Nelly  ;  but  I  confess  you  puzzle  me.  How  old 
are  you,  Nelly  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  can  not  be  more  than  eighteen  ?"- 

"  I  don't  think  I  am." 

"  And  the  Lady  Nelson  took  you  with  her  when  very  young  1" 

"  Yes,  when  I  was  a  child.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  a 
child." 

"  And  you  were  educated  along  with  this  lady's  daughter  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!  dear  Bettie  and  myself  learned  from  the  same 
books.  We  sang  and  played  together." 

"  Did  you  learn  any  instrument  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  we  had  a  harpsichord  like  yours.  Lady  Nelson 
was  very  rich,  and  had  everything  fine  about  her." 

"  And  after  living  in  her  fine  house  for  years,  and  learning  so 
much,  Nelly,  you  could,  of  your  own  will,  abandon  all,  and  go 
back  to  the  woods  ?" 

"  I  had  to,  Miss  Sinclair.  It  would  have  been  wrong  to 
stay?' 

"  Here  again  you  puzzle  me.     Why  wrong  ?" 

"  Oli,  do  not  ask  me  that !  for  I  must  not  tell  you.  I  was 
jM;>isessed  by  a  great  folly,  Miss  Sinclair;  and  when  I  thought 
of  it,  I  felt  that  I 'ought  to  go  into  the  woods  again,  and  leave 
the  fine  dwelling  and  the  luxuries,  and  the  splendid  society, 
which  did  not  suit  with  my  condition." 

"  But  the  folly,  Nelly  ?" 

"  Ah,  no !  not  that !  It  is  a  folly  that  I  muse  in  pair.  *uxl 
sorrow.  It  is  the  only  sorrow  that  humbles  me  on  my  ow* 
account-" 


.  ,*  EUTAW. 

And  again  the  girl's  face  flushed  with  a  crimson,  deep  like 
>i  sunset. 

'  Well,  you  must  keep  your  secret,  Nellys  until  you  are  wil 
ling  to  believe  me  such  a  true  friend,  that  you  will  gladly  ask 
cie  to  help  you  in  keeping  it.  I  hope,  Nelly,  you  think  me 
your  friend  —  that  you  will  let  me  protect  you  as  a  friend." 

"  I  know  it.  I  can  tell,  at  a  glance,  whom  to  believe.  The 
voice  tells  me.  Your  face  I  read  directly,  soon  as  I  saw  it ;  and 
I  felt  that  I  could  love  you." 

"  And  I'm  sure,  Nelly,  I  can  and  do  love  you.  You  are 
certainly  a  strange,  sweet  creature.  Did  no  one  —  did  Lady 
Nelson  never  tell  you  that  you  had  some  extraordinary  gifts, 
Nelly?" 

"Not  Lady  Nelson,  but  others  —  Jeff  Rhodes,  Sister  Molly, 
Nat  Rhodes,  Mat,  my  brother,  and  good  old  Mother  Ford,  said 
I  had  gifts,  but  all  laughed  at  them  except  Mother  Ford.  They 
said  it  was  a  sort  of  madness ;  and  sometimes  I  feared  myself, 
from  so  often  hearing  of  it,  that  I  was  crazy.  But  talking  with 
you,  I  have  no  such  fear ;  and  I  had  no  such  fear  when  with 
Lady  Nelson.  She  never  said  anything  of  the  sort,  nor  Little 
Bettie,  nor  Sherrod  —  but  then  it  was  only  about  six  months  be 
fore  I  left  Lady  Nelson,  that  I  began  to  hear  the  voice,  and  to 
see  strange  things." 

"  Who  do  you  call  Sherrod  V 

"Sherrod!" 

"  Yes." 

"  Sherrod  Nelson  is  the  son  of  Lady  Nelson — he  is  gone  with 
her,  and  they  tell  me  he  is  now  a  captain  in  the  army,  in  the 
West  Indies  somewhere." 

"  Was  he  a  clever  fellow,  that  Sherrod,  or  one  of  the  spoiled 
.ristocrats  of  the  city  ?" 

"  Sherrod  spoiled  1  Oh,  no  !  nothing  could  spoil  Sherrod 
He  was  as  good  as  he  was  handsome ;  all  Heart  and  soul,  and 
so  beautiful  —  tali,  with  such  an  eye,,  and  such  a  sweet  voice." 

"Ah!"  was  the  subdued  comment  of  Carrie,  The  girl  con 
tinued  :— • 

No:    Sherrod  had   no   vulgar  pride  or   vanity.      He   was 

..::;}'\<;iieys  itself:  all  his  sentiments  were  noble,  manly,  gener- 

ctionate.     A:.  triU-nts.     We  used  to  play 


HOW    NELLY    FLOYD    BECOMES   MYSTICAL.  2-U 

and  sing  together  nightly ;  he  had  a  voice  of  great  power,  and 
so  exquisite  a  taste — " 

The  slightest  possible  smile  was  mantling  upon  the  counte 
nance  of  Carrie  when  the  quick  eye  of  Nelly  discerned  it. 
She  stopped  short  on  the  instant,  and  looking  sadly  conscious, 
but  not  a  whit  confused,  quietly,  but  abruptly,  walked  out  of 
the  chamber.  Just  then,  little  Lottie,  the  sister  of  Carrie, 
bounded  in  with  a  message  from  her  father,  and  the  elder  sister 
hurried  down  with  affectionate  promptness  to  see  what  the  old 
man  wanted.  She  was  detained  by  the  veteran  half  an  hour  or 
so  ;  and,  when  dismissed,  she  hurried  up  to  Nelly  Floyd's  cham 
ber,  to  see  after  her.  But  Nelly  was  not  in  her  chamber,  and, 
to  the  surprise  of  Carrie,  she  discovered  the  dress  —  one  of  her 
own  —  in  which  she  had  persuaded  the  strange  girl  to  clothe 
herself,  throwing  aside  her  picturesque  but  unconventional  cos 
tume,  lying  upon  the  bed.  She  ran  through  the  house  hastily, 
and  finding  the  girl  absent,  she  darted  out  into  the  contiguous 
groves,  in  which  Nelly  had  previously  been  seen  to  wander. 

She  found  her  sitting  upon  a  rude  bench  of  pine,  beneath  a 
group  of  noble  water-oaks.  There  she  sat  singing  —  singing  a 
weird,  sad  chant  of  autumn  leaves  and  winds  —  the  most  unsea 
sonable  strain  in  the  world  for  midsummer,  when  every  tree  and 
shrub  was  gorgeous  in  green  and  glitter.  We  must  copy  the 
ballad,  if  only  to  indicate  the  natural  sentiment  m  poor  Neily's 
bosom  —  a  sentiment  which  her  ordinary  conversation  did  not 
express;  for,  though  Nelly  expressed  herself  always  —  no  one 
more  frank  —  yet  of  herself  she  was  rarely  brought  to  speak  : — 

"  AH  !  the  leaves  are  falling, 

Blighted  from  the  tree ; 
And  the  birds  are  calling, 

Very  mournfully ! 

Very,  very  mournfully, 
Do  they  shriek  and  cry, 

As  they  break  the  dreary 
Wailing  through  the  sky  — 

Dreary,  dreary,  very  dreary, 
Wailing  through  the  sky ! 

'•'  Hark !  the  bugle  wailing 

From  Jhe  mountain-towers , 
Hosts  of  winter  trailing 

Through  our  surnmer-bowera  — 


230  EUTAW. 

Trailing  very  solemnly, 
As  at  burial-rite, 

Of  a  great  one,  solemnly, 
In  the  dead  of  night  — 

Wailing,  wailing  —  oh,  the  wailing  i  ••• 
Wailing  through  the  night ! 

"  Oh  !  it  was  a  bridal 

Beautiful  to  see ; 
And  a  birth  that  joyed  all, 

Bright  exceedingly : 

Bright,  oh,  bright  exceedingly 
Was  that  birth  of  flowers, 

When  the  Summer  lovelily 
Pranked  her  bridal  bowers  — 

Joyously,   so    joyously, 
Singing  through  the  hours ! 

"  Ah  !  the  flowers  are  dying, 

Falling  from  the  tree ; 
And,  for  song,  the  sighing 

Answers  mournfully. 

Very,  very  mournfully 
Do  the  zephyrs  fly 

From  the  tempest  dreary 
Wailing  through  the  sky  — 

Dreary,  wailing  dreary  — 
Wailing  through  the  sky ! 

They  have  laid  her  lonely 

'Neath  the  naked  tree ; 
She  we  loved  so  fondly  — 

Very  nakedly  — 

Very,  very  nakedly, 
They  have  laid  her  down, 

Where  the  winds  wail  drearily, 
Making  midnight  moan  — 

Lonely,  dreary,  wild,  and  weary, 
Making  midnight  moan  !" 

"  Why,  Nelly  dear,  what  a  doleful  ditty  h  this !  And  how 
unnatural !  how  unseasonable  !  With  trees  and  flowers  every 
where  in  bloom  —  with  the  birds  singing  summer  in  the  trees  — 
bees,  with  perpetual  hum  of  happiness,  flitting  through  the 
woods  incessant — and  the  blue  sky  above,  and  a  bright  sun 
shining  from  the  heavens  —  you  are  chanting  of  storm  and 
winter!" 


HOW   NELLY   FLOYD   BECOMES   MYSTICAL.  231 

A  sweet,  pensive  smile  lightened  up  the  face  of  the  girl 
softly,  as  the  moon  puts  aside  the  cloud  with  a  smile,  and  she  an 
swered: — 

"Ah,  Miss  Sinclair,  I  think  winter,  and  do  not  feel  the  sum 
mer  !" 

"Nay,  I  will  have  it  otherwise,  Nelly.  You  shall  both  feel 
and  think  summer  when  with  me.  I  will  be  a  cheerier  voice  to 
you  than  that  you  have  been  wont  to  hear;  I  will  show  you 
brighter  pictures  than  those  which  sadden  you  to  see.  Thus,  my 
wild  girl  of  the  forests,  with  this  kiss  I  break  the  spell  of  the  wizard. 
There,  you  are  now  mine,  and  you  shall  see  none  but  summer  signs 
in  the  sky  while  my  spells  are  on  you." 

And  she  kissed  the  wild  girl  tenderly  on  her  forehead,  while 
she  passed  her  hand  under  the  heavy  masses  of  her  shortened 
hair. 

Nelly  rose,  and  with  sudden  impulse  embraced  her  ;  then  recoiled, 
and  looked  at  her  fondly  but  steadily,  saying — 

"Ah,  Miss  Sinclair,  it  is  the  summer  that  blossoms  in  your 
heart !" 

"It  shall  bloom  in  yours  yet,  Nelly." 

And  she  pulled  the  girl  down  again  to  her  seat,  and  took  a  place 
beside  her. 

"  Why  did  you  change  your  dress,  Nelly  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  went  to  see  poor  little  Aggy,  and  he  wouldn't  have  known 
me  in  any  other  dress  than  this." 

"  You  went  to  the  stables  ?    How  did  you  find  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  found  them  well  enough.  I  went  to  see  the  poor  fellow 
yesterday,  and  he  was  so  glad  to  see  me  !  And  I  told  him  I  should 
want  him  to-morrow,  and  he  seemed  so  glad  to  hear  1" 

"  But  you  don't  think  of  leaving  us  to-morrow,  Nelly  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  must.     I  must  go  and  see  after  poor  Mat." 

"  But  why  not  go  with  us  to  the  city  ?" 

"Me  ?  no,  no  ! — never  there  again !" 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  should  think  all  the  while  of  the  summers  I  spent  there 
with  Lady  Nelson  and  Bettie— " 

"  And  Sherrod." 

"Yes  " — sadly  enough — "  and  Sherrod." 

"It  will  not  be  a  painful  sadness,  Nelly.    Go  with  us  there." 


2d2  EUTAW. 

"No,  dear  Miss  Sinclair.  I  am  bidden  to  look  up  Mat,  and 
watch  him,  and  save  him  if  I  can." 

"  Well,  stay  with  us  till  we  depart." 

"  And  while  I  stay  with  you,  hearing  you  speak  such  musui 
to  my  heart,  poor  Mat  is  in  rags,  and  starving." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Why  should  you  think  so  ?  He  is  a  man :  he  can 
take  care  of  himself." 

"He  is  a  boy  —  a  poor  boy.  He  is  weak,  weak  —  though 
not  crazy  —  no  one  calls  him  crazy  —  but  he  is  so  weak  —  so 
easily  tempted  !  And,  I  tell  you,  my  brother  starves." 

"  But  you,  Nelly — what  can  you  do  for  him  V1 

"  Tell  him  what  God  wills ;  help  him  to  know  and  see  what 
God  wills ;  and  God  provides,  you  know,  even  for  the  sparrows, 
and  Mat  is  worth  many  sparrows  —  though  so  weak  —  so  weak 

—  so  fond  of  his  weakness  !    No,  I  can  not  go  with  you,  or  stay 
with  you  longer ;  though  my  love  will  follow  you,  Miss  Sinclair 

—  will  follow  you  with  eyes  and  wings,  oven  to  the  distant  city, 
I  shall  see  you  in  the  crowd,  arid,  if  harm  threatens  you,  I  will 
see  it ;  for,  when  my  love  goes  to  a  person,  then  I  see  what  is 
to  happen  to  them." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  shall  see ;  and,  if  there's  danger,  then  I  will  come  to 
you  —  come  to  you  and  tell  you." 

Enough  of  the  conversation  between  the  two  damsels  for  the 
present.  We  may  add  that  it  was  resumed  that  night,  and  con 
tinued  till  a  late  hour.  Very  affectionate  was  their  parting  em 
brace  for  the  night ;  and  Carrie  Sinclair  did  not  sleep  for  a  long 
while,  as  she  meditated  the  intensity  of  that  fervor  of  the  strange 
girl,  which  was  yet  expressed  with  so  much  simplicity.  To  her 
surprise  and  annoyance,  when  she  rose  in  the  morning,  Nelly 
Floyd  was  gone. 

As  Benny  Bowlegs  described  her  departure,  "  she  was  gone 
like  a  harricane." 

The  negro  had  unconsciously  likened  her  to  the  headlong 
tcnrjdst  frr~*.  ;rhich  she  had  received  her  nom  de  mque. 


TORTURO  —  APPLICATION    OF    'THE   QQESTIO1 


JHAPTER   XX. 

THE    TORTURO  —  APPLICATION    OF    "THE    QUESTION." 

THE  military  employment  of  Inglehardt  was  of  a  nature  to 
suffer  him  to  use  it  incidentally  for  his  own  purposes,  and  he 
was  by  no  means  the  patriot  to  reject  such  opportunities.  The 
necessities  of  the  British  garrisons  at  Orangeburg  and  Charles 
ton  made  them  greatly  dependent  upon  the  loyalist  light- 
troops.  They  constituted,  in  fact,  the  best  if  not  the  only  cav 
alry  of  the  army  ;  and,  though  generally  mounted  gunmen, 
rather  than  dragoons,  they  served  to  cover  the  flanks,  to  press 
pursuit,  to  go  on  sudden  and  secret  expeditions,  and  to  do  the 
general  work  of  foraging.  A  service  like  this  left  them  a  large 
discretion,  and  it  was  accordingly  that  which  the  loyalist  ran 
gers  most  preferred.  Hence  the  perpetual  outrages  committed 
by  small,  irresponsible  detachments  ;  hence  the  frequent  encoun 
ters  of  small  bodies ;  and  hence  the  cruel  civil  war  that  raged 
everywhere,  and  was  so  fearfully  illustrated  by  the  most  atro 
cious  crimes.  And  the  British  generals,  though  they  knew  of 
these  atrocities,  dared  not  rebuke  them  or  restrain  them.  The 
criminals  were  too  generally  useful,  too  necessary,  not  to  enjoy 
some  peculiar  immunities,  which  laughed  at  all  wholesome  mili 
tary  as  well  as  moral  restraints. 

Ingle^-T  dt  v/afi  not  the  person  to  forego  any  of  his  privileges 
or  opportunely  lie  iook  his  own  course  at  will,  whenever  he 
was  fairy  without  tli3  garrisoned  place.  He  rode  in  and  out 
at  pleasure ;  his  absances  were  more  or  less  prolonged ;  and  his 
own  reports  were  never  too  critically  scrutinized.  But  for  the 
.1  anger  of  such  sharp  encounters  with  such  well-mounted  cav 
dry  .as  Sinclair  commanded,  the  service  would  have  been  a 


234  EUTAW. 

grateful  one  in  every  respect,  even  if  it  brought  no  promotion. 
It  brought  its  profits.  It  had  done  so  to  Inglehardt,  as  to  a 
hundred  others,  in  every  considerable  degree.  But  the  field  was 
daily  growing  more  and  more  circumscribed,  as  well  as  danger 
ous.  The  profits  were  decreasing;  the  chances  lessened,  and  the 
mischances  were  proportionally  increased.  The  hot  passage-at- 
arms  with  Sinclair  and  St.  Julien  had  cut  off  a  score  of  our 
loyalist's  most  vigorous  emissaries,  and  it  seemed  to  Inglehardt 
that  Sinclair  found  or  sought  no  other  employment  than  to  watch 
for  him.  There  seemed  a  fate  in  it !  In  fact,  we  are  not  un 
prepared  to  believe  that  Sinclair  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  best  mode  of  extricating  Travis  and  his  son  was  to  conquer, 
capture,  or  destroy  Inglehardt. 

This  was  the  conviction  of  the  latter;  and,  loathing  Sinclair, 
and  regarding  him  as  the  true  obstacle  to  his  success  with  Ber 
tha  Travis,  Inglehardt  longed  for  the  opportunity  to  take  deadly 
vengeance  on  his  head.  But  he  was  in  no  condition  to  face  the 
body  of  men  whom  his  rival  led ;  and  he  gave  all  his  efforts 
now  so  to  recruit  his  own  force  as  to  put  himself  in  condition 
for  the  desperate  struggle.  He  could  have  obtained  any  num 
ber  of  recruits  from  the  ranks  of  the  army;  but  they  were  with 
out  horses.  He  was  reduced,  therefore,  to  the  one  means — 
that  of  picking  up,  where  he  could  find  them,  the  rangers  of  the 
country,  most  of  whom  contrived  to  secrete  their  horses  when 
not  absolutely  using  them,  and  only  risked  them,  in  the  sight 
of  superior  strength,  when  they  were  incorporated  in  the  ranks 
which  they  might  otherwise  have  been  taught  to  fear.  The 
employment  which  he  especially  assigned  to  Dick  of  Tophet, 
and  to  Sam  Brydone,  alias  "  Skin-the-Sarpent,"  was  that  of  re 
cruiting  from  among  these  people.  Inglehardt  himself  had  suc 
ceeded  in  incorporating  with  his  own  corps  the  remains  of  the 
Florida  refugees  of  Lem  Watkins  —  that  fierce  ruffian  having 
perished  in  an  encounter  with  the  troop  of  Captain  Coulter  of 
Edisto.  Thirteen  horses  and  men  were  picked  up  from  this 
source;  and  Andrews  and  Brydone  were  busy  along  the  swamp- 
margins  of  the  Cooper  and  the  Santee,  in  making  further  addi 
tions  to  his  command.  We  have  seen  Sinclair  dispersing  one 
of  these  cohorts,  which  Dick  of  Tophet  had  just  got  together 
and  which  he  was  exercising  for  the  first  time.  The  affair 


TORTUKO-  -APPLICATION   OF   "THE   QUESTION."          xU 

added  not  a  little  to  the  capital  of  rage  and  hate  ^  uich  Ing^-i 
hardt  and  his  lieutenant  had  been  long  accumulating,  to  expend 
upon  the  enemy's  head  whenever  the  chance  should  offer. 

These  employments  of  Inglehardt,  during  the  scenes  we  hare 
been  describing  of  late,  suffered  him  only  a  single  opportunity 
of  getting  down  to  "  Muddicoat  Castle"  —  as  the  region  whert 
the  Travis's  were  confined  had  been  appropriately  styled  by 
Dick  of  Toplict.  He  arrived  late  in  thc*cvening.  Bruntso^ 
and  Blodgit  were  on  duty.  Dick  of  Tophet  was  on  the  wing 
Iiiglehardt  did  not  bring  his  troop  with  him  into  the  swamp- 
fastnesses.  Of  its  secrets  they  were  allowed  to  know  noth 
ing.  He  made  them  bivouac  in  a  thick  wood,  two  miles  above, 
leaving  the  command  in  the  hands  of  his  lieutenant  —  a  cool, 
shrewd,  circumspect  loyalist,  named  Lundiford. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  Inglehardt  entered  the  log-cabin 
where  Captain  Travis  was  still  kept,  and  in  irons.  The  latter, 
as  if  too  depressed  by  care — or  as  if  he  knew  already,  by  sure 
instincts,  who  Avas  his  visiter,  never  asked  a  word  —  never  raised 
his  head  from  the  pillow  of  pine-brush  upon  which  it  lay 
There  was  no  light  in  the  apartment,  and  Inglehardt  called  to 
some  one  without,  to  bring  a  torch.  This  was  laid  in  the  fire 
place,  a  few  brands  added  to  it,  by  Inglehardt  himself,  and  the 
blaze  soon  lighted  up  the  blank  and  dreary  chamber,  so,  at  least, 
as  to  exhibit  all  its  cheerlessncss.  Blodgit,  who  had  brought  the 
torch,  now  lingered  —  when  Inglehardt,  suddenly  and  sternly, 
bade  him  depart. 

"  To  your  own  house,  my  good  fellow,"  said  our  loyalist  cap 
tain  to  skulking  Peter  —  who  was  even  then  meditating  a  plan 
of  espionage  —  "to  your  own  house;  and,  remember,  if  found 
here,  when  not  called,  or  needed,  you  may  forfeit  your  ears," 

Pete  limped  away — he  always  grew  very  lame  when  threat 
ened.  The  mild,  slow  accents  of  Inglehardt,  uttering  such 
words,  were  as  full  of  terror,  as  if  poured  forth  in  the  thunder 
ing  accents  of  Dick  of  Tophet ;  and  the  effort  was  such,  that,  for 
the  present  at  least,  his  purpose  of  espionage  was  forgotten 
When  he  had  gone,  Inglehardt  closed  and  secured  the  door, 
wheeled  a  bench  beside  the  fire,  and  having  quietly  seated  him 
self,  suffered  his  eye  to  steal  round  the  apartment  until  it  vested 
upon  the  .sleeping  place  of  Captain  Travis, 


/.'  BUT  AW. 

Bui  Travis  did  not  sleep.  His  eye,  bright  as  that  of  a  well, 
'coking  up  from  the  deep  dark  hollows  of  his  den  —  as  wild  and 
snva^o  —  encountered  fearlessly  that  of  the  loyalist. 

"  Well,  Captain  Travis,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  hope  my 
fellv  ws  make  you  quite  comfortable  here." 

No  answer  to  this  dulcet  expression,  which  was  made  in  very 
swsot  measures,  and  with  amiable  emphasis. 

•'I  see  they  doT  Your  eye  looks  bright  and  cheerful..  I 
t:ust  you  enjoy  yourself.  Solitude  is  the  great  field  for  con 
templation.  You  lived  too  much  in  the  busy  world  when  you 
were  abroad.  It  made  you  prematurely  old.  It  was  a  life  of 
care,  and  such  a  life  gnaws  into  the  heart,  and  saps  all  tnw 
vigor  of  the  soul.  Here,  in  seclusion,  free  from  the  anxieties  of 
strife,  one  might  grow  young  again.  The  peace,  the  peace  of 
the  solitude,  how  sweet  are  its  securities.  Verily,  your  thoughts 
must  have  been  very  grateful  in  the  unwonted  quiet  of  your 
present  abodes." 

inglehardt  paused  and  pulled  out  his  snuff-box,  a  new  one  by 
the  way,  which  he  had  recently  bought,  or  found,  or  procured 
by  the  usual  agency  of  military  appropriation.  He  fed  his  nose 
with  gingerly  delicacy,  as  if  he  specially  considered  the  pecu 
liar  claims  of  the  member.  After  a-  pause,  Travis  showing  no 
disposition  to  reply  to  the  remarks  made  by  his  captor,  the  lat 
ter  resumed  : — 

"  You  do  not  speak,  my  dear  captain.  I  trust  you  have  no 
childish  humors  growing  upon  you  in  the  solitude.  Beware  of 
cuch.  The  solitary  must  choose  such  subjects  of  contemplation 
only,  as  will  sweeten  his  humors,  subdue  his  querulous  moods, 
and  vexing  fancies,  and  bring  him  finally  into  such  peace  with 
all  the  world,  that  his  reason  may  have  free  play,  conducting 
him  gradually  to  all  the  fruits  of  wisdom.  Nor,  because  you 
have  temporarily  withdrawn  from  the  vexing  anxieties  of  tho 
world  ought  you  to  show  yourself  wholly  indifferent  to  its 
progress.  Such  indifference  woulcl  be  quite  inhiiman,  not  to 
say  unchristian.  The  great  point  to  obtain,  is  that  condition  of 
freedom  from  a  world,  in  which  we  still  entertain  an  interest  — 
in  the  struggles  of  which  we  still  sympathize  —  and  after  the 
health  and  progress  of  which,  it  is  still  pleasant  to  make  *n, oc 
casional  inquiry.  Now,  it  strikes  me,  (hat  you  should  like  t" 


TORTURO  —  APPLICATION   OF   "THE   QUESTION."          237 

hear  something,  however  small  in  import,  of  that  busy  life  from 
«vhich  you  have  withdrawn  in  disgust.  You  must  not,  my  dear 
Captain,  because  you  have  nothing  now  to  gain  or  lose  in  society, 
•)e  wholly  regardless  of  the  gains  or  losses  of  society.  The 
jvorld  is  in  progress,  I  assure  you,  though  you  leave  it  and  think 
ittle  of  it.  There  are  men  and  women  everywhere  still  striving 
n  their  pretty,  petty  plans,  of  self  and  their  neighbors ;  and, 
oy  the  way,  the  war  is  still  pending  between  his  majesty's 
'orces,  and  those  of  rebellion  —  not  exactly  as  when  you  with 
drew  into  retirement  —  but  with  some  fervor  still.  How  long 
t  will  continue,  it  may  not  be  difficult  to  predict  from  what  we 
snow.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  something  of  its  prog 
ress  since  you  left  the  field." 

Here  the  amiable  captain  of  loyalists  paused,  to  give  his 
>risoner  the  opportunity  to  reply.  But  Travis  never  answered, 
«ut  still  kept  a  bright,  stern  eye  fixed  on  the  face  of  the 
speaker,  intense,  with  almost  serpent-like  intensity. 

"  You  are  curious,  I  know,  though  you  do  not  like  to  con 
fess  it,"  resumed  his  tormentor,  '•  and  I  am  indulgent  to  your 
suriosity,  though  you  may  little  deserve  it.  Know  then,  my 
lear  captain,  that  the  army  of  our  rebel-friend,  Greene,  has 
just  been  completely  annihilated  at  Murray's  ferry.  Greene 
»as  had  to  take  refuge  in  the  Santee  swamps  with  Marion,  while 
sve  are  rid  of  Sumter  for  ever.  He  was  mortally  wounded,  and 
by  this  time,  I  suppose,  is  laid  up  in  lavender  for  ever.  The 
rumor  has  just  reached  us  also  that  Lafayette  has  surren 
dered  with  all  his  army  to  Cornwallis,  and  that  Washington  is 
hurrying  with  all  his  remaining  regiments,  to  make  himself  safe 
at  West  Point,  giving  up  Philadelphia  without  a  struggle  to  our 
friends.  This  intelligence,  to  a  good  loyalist  like  yourself,  must 
?~o  particularly  grateful." 

The  eyes  of  Travis  watched  those  of  Inglehardt  more  fixedly 
than  ever.  Hs  dil  not  seem  moved  by  the  intelligence  In 
fact,  he  knew  IngleKvrdt  too  well,  not  to  feel  very  sure  that 
the  whole  narrative  was  an  invention,  designed  for  his  own  self 
;sh  purposes. 

"  What  {  do  you  pretend,  my  dear  captain,  that  your  philos 
ophy  makes  you  superior  to  these  tidings  ?  Are  you  really  so 
indifferent  t,c  the  world's  wholesome  doings  ?  Or,  are  you  really 


238  EUTAW. 

less  comfortable  than  you  should  be  m  this  sylvan  retreat  ?  An 
swer  me,  my  dear  captain,  and  tell  nfe  how  they  serve,  how 
they  provide — how,  in  brief,  they  feed  you." 

Travis  answered,  at  length : — 

"  You  see  !  I  live  !" 

"  And  I'm  glad  to  see  it !  I  couldn't  spare  you  just  yet,  and 
trust  that  I  am  properly  solicitous  to  have  you  kept  comfortably; 
as  well  as  closely.  But  now  that  you  have  found  your  tongue, 
be  pleased  to  indicate  the  subject  upon  which  you  would  con 
verse." 

"  My  son  !  I  would  see  my  son  !  I  would  speak  with  him 
—  hear  his  voice  —  see  if  still  lie  lives  !" 

"  Ah  !  well !  I  suppose  there  can  be  no  good  reason  why 
you  should  not  see  him,  and  if  the  worthy  sergeant  who  claims 
to  be  his  keeper,  has  no  objection—" 

It  rather  surprised  Inglehardt,  cool  as  he  was,  to  find  himself 
interrupted  by  a  wild  hiss  of  scorn  from  the  straw  where  Travis 
lay. 

"  Nay,  my  dear  Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt,  "  you  must 
not  be  rash  and  hasty.  It  is  too  much  your  wont  to  be  alto 
gether  consistent  with  the  mood  of  a  solitary.  What  I  tell  you 
is  the  truth.  Your  son  is  the  special  captive  of  Joel  Andrews, 
otherwise  Hell-fire  Dick  ;  and  Joel  has  his  own  notions  of  what 
should  be  the  privileges  of  his  captive,  as  I  of  mine.  He  is,  1 
frankly  tell  you,  resolved  to  keep  your  son  strictly  private,  un 
less  you  are  willing  to  exchange  him  for  your  daughter.  The 
truth  is,  Hell-fire  Dick  has  a  most  singular  affecfjon  for  his  cap 
tain,  and  knowing  how  much  my  happiness  depends  upon  Ber 
tha  Travis,  he  has  come  to  the  resolution  that  nothing  but  ?.& 
exchange  of  this  sort  will  serve  his  purpose.  And  he  has  a  no 
tion,  that  the  less  you  see  of  your  son,  the  b«.tt;v  likel/  to  at 
tain  his  object.  There,  you  have  the  whole  amount  of  his  pol 
icy.  Does  it  not  strike  you  as  rational  1" 

"My  son  !  shall  I  see  and  speak  with  my  so?i  ;•"  v  a?  all  the 
answer  of  the  captive. 

"  Well,  I  am  amiable  of  mood  t.  -rught,  my  ae«r  ;aptain,  and 
I  will  step  out  for  awhile,  and  make  the  necessary  inquiries  " 

And  with  leisurely  step,  Inglehardt  vcv,',  fcv';..  .  .  I:. ;  -.md 
fastening  the  door  behind  him,  \ 


TORTURO  —  APPLICATION    OP   "THE   QUESTION."          289 

"0  God!"  cried  Travis  when  he  bad  gone,  "Oh!  for  five 
iimwto's  grapple  with  that  monster  !" 

Monster  in  human  shape  he  was.  But  is  there  any  cause  of 
marvel  in  this  ?  It  is  not  possible  to  conceive  how  great  a  mon 
ster  a  man  may  become,  who  is  utterly  swallowed  up  in  self, 
Cf  zcurse,  we  know,  as  Travis  knew,  that  Joel  Andrews  was 
lut  the  creature  of  his  employer  ;  and  that,  whatever  treatment 
Henry  Travis  received,  was  due  wholly  to  the  commands  of 
Inglehardt.  No  wonder  that  the  scorn  of  Travis  found  its  only 
expression  in  a  serpent  hiss. 

Dick  of  Tophet  was  absent  ;  but  Inglehardt  simply  content 
ed  himself  with  asking  after  him.  He  then  gave  his  orders  to 
one  of  his  constables,  and  himself  returned  to  the  dungeon  of 


"  Joel  is  not  unwilling  that  you  should  see  your  son,  Captain 
Travis,  and  has  ordered  that  he  be  brought  to  you.  It  appears 
to  me,  Travis,  that  you  could  not  do  more  wisely  than  properly 
to  entertain  the  affectionate  idea  of  Joel.  Exchange  your  son 
for  your  daughter,  and  Joel  will  consent  that  I  shall  become 
her  sole  custodian.  Joel  has  perfect  confidence  in  me,  I  assure 
you,  as  a  good  keeper  of  a  fair  prisoner." 

He  had  hardly  finished  speaking,  when  Branson  appeared, 
conducting  Henry  Travis.  When  he  perceived  him  at  the  en 
trance,  Inglehardt  threw  more  brands  upon  the  fire,  which  ena 
bled  the  father  to  behold  the  son  distinctly.  With  a  sort  of 
famishing  howl,  Travis  rose  up  in  his  manacles  and  straw,  and, 
with  difficulty,  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  boy  was  brought  up 
to  him,  and  grasped  him  sobbing  about  the  neck.  Then,  after 
a  moment,  the  father  pushed  him  away  and  surveyed  him  where 
he  stood. 

What  a  change  did  the  appearance  of  the  boy  exhibit,  from 
that  which  he  was  but  a  few  weeks  before.  Where  was  the 
elastic  bound  of  footstep,  the  cheery,  birdlike  music  of  his  voice, 
the  eager  aspiration  in  his  eye,  the  laughing,  gay  humor  of  his 
heart  ?  all  gone  !  In  place  of  these,  he  was  wan,  thin,  feeble  ; 
his  eye  seemed  to  lack  lustre,  was  at  once  dull  and  humid,  his 
voice  was  feeble,  the  tones  spiritless,  the  whole  aspect  lan 
guishing. 

"  Oh  !  Henry,  my  son.     What  have  they  done  to  you?" 


:240  EUTAW. 

•'  Done  to  me,  father  'I     Nothing.     But  1  am  so  hungry,  anc 
I  never  see  the  light." 

"  God  of  Heaven  !     Darkness  and  starvation." 

The  boy  let  himself  down  languidly  upon  the  straw  of  the 
dungeon.  The  father  cried  : — 

"  Captain  Inglehardt,  is  it  really  your  purpose  to  murder  tliat 
boy  by  starvation  ?" 

"  Starvation  !  eh  !  no  !     How  can  you  conceive  such  an  idea,  ? 

"  Look  at  him  !     The  boy  is  famished." 

"  Well,  he  does  not  look  so  buoyant  quite  as  when  he  flour 
ished  in  the  charge  of  Sinclair's  dragoons ;  but  a  little  dieting 
will,  perhaps,  be  of  service  in  subduing  him  to  a  little  necessary 
humility.     The  loss  of  one's  liberty  is  apt  to  press  sorely  at  firs 
upon  high  young  blood ;  but  it  is  very  beneficial  in  the  end." 

"  But  why  starvation  ?" 

•'  Pshaw,  there  is  no  starvation !  Don't  you  feed  the  boy, 
Brunsou  ?" 

"  Gives  him  his  'lowance  reg'lar,  cappin ;  what  Hell-fire 
Dick  says." 

"  All !  you  have  your  orders  from  Andrews  ?" 

"  Yes,  cappin,  jest  as  lie  says.  The  boy  gits  his  reg'lar  'low 
ance.  He's  only  got  the  pip,  as  I  may  say." 

"  Tho  pip!"  cried  Travis,  "  my  chick!  my  child  !  my  poor, 
{••tor  boy  !  But  I  see  your  purpose,  Captain  Inglehardt.  You 
would  torture  me  into  compliance  with  your  demands,  by  the 
torture  of  that  young  innocent." 

"  Oh  !  you  mustn't  call  it  torture,  my  dear  captain.  A  denial 
of  his  old  luxuries  —  you  were  spoiling  the  boy,  Travis  —  ma 
king  him  tender;  and  the  coarse  food  of  camp,  at  a  time  of 
short  commons,  may  imply  a  hard  training,  but  not  a  cruel  one. 
As  for  any  torture,  the  notion  is  idle ;  and  the  charge  of  starva 
tion  positively  slanderous.  But,  do  you  not  see,  my  dear  cap 
tain,  that  it  is  in  your  power,  alone,  to  loose  his  bonds  and  your 
o\vn  I  Why  will  you  persist  in  this  cruelty  to  him  and  to  your 
self?  Here,  I  have  brought  you  a  paper;  it  is  addressed  to 
your  daughter;  re-write  it,  sign  it;  I  will  send  it.  I  have  an 
Opportunity  at  this  very  moment,  in  the  Santee  country  —  write  ; 
and  the  event  proving  as  I  wish,  your  discharge  follows  instantly, 
and  — his." 


TORTURO -- APPLICATION   OF     'THE   QUESTION."          241 

"  All !    you  have  the  power  to  treat  for  his  discharge  also 
though  not  your  prisoner !"  cried  Travis,  with  a  bitter  sneer, 

"  Precisely,  my  dear  captain.  There  is  nothing  in  this  in 
consistent  with  what  I  have  already  said.  My  excellent  lieu 
tenant  gives  me  to  understand  that,  one  condition  complied  with 
by  you,  I  am  then  permitted  to  release  the  boy.  My  own 
heart  will  prompt  my  release  of  you  in  the  same  moment." 

"  Your  heart !  ha !  ha !  ha  !  What  a  mockery.  But  read 
the  paper  —  read  the  paper.  Let  us  hear  these  fine  conditions." 

"  You  have  already  heard  them,  captain." 

"  Oh  !  I  presume  so  ;  still,  I  would  hear  you  repeat  the  dara- 
nable  requisitions ;  I  would  like  to  see  how  you  frame  the  base, 
cruel,  and  horrible  terms  in  language;  how  you  disguise  their 
enormities  for  the  ears  of  the  sister,  by  which  you  hope  yet  to 
compel  her  self-sacrifice,  for  the  safety  of  her  brother's  life. 
Read,  man  of  heart  —  read!" 

"  You  are  positively  satirical,  Captain  Travis ;  but  I  am  for 
tunately  clad  in  meekness  as  in  a  garment,  and  your  sarcasm 
shall  not  vex  my  humility.  It  is  permitted  to  the  losing  game 
ster  to  be  angry.  Branson,  lift  one  of  these  brands  from  the 
fire,  that  I  may  read  this  paper." 

It  is  evident,  by  the  way,  that  Inglehardt  knows  no  more  of 
tl'3  whereabout  of  Bertha  Travis  than  her  father.  Both  believe 
that  she  and  her  mother  are  across  the  Santee. 

Meanwhile,  Travis,  with  his  handcuffed  hands,  was  feebly 
clasping  his  son's  cheeks,  and  kissing  his  face,  every  now  and 
then  sobbing  huskily  : — 

"  My  boy  —  my  poor,  poor  boy  !" 

"  Do  they  give  you  bread,  father  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  such  as  it  is,  my  boy ;  more,  I  believe,  than  they  give 
you  —  Inglehardt! — let  them  give  me  but  half  of  the  food 
which  they  allow  me,  and  give  the  rest  to  my  son." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  captain,  that  I  can  not  interfere  with  the 
captive  of  Joel  Andrews.  In  feeding  you,  I  take  due  care  of 
my  own  captive." 

"Oh!" — Travis  was  about  to  utter  a  bitter  curse,  but  he 
checked  himself.  He  felt  how  completely  he  was  in  the  power 
of  the  tyrant,  and  he  feared  to  irritate  self-esteem  into  rage. 
"  Oh  ' —  but  read  your  precious  paper  —  read  !" 


242  EUTAW. 

"  Father,"  said  the  boy,  in  under  tones,  but  still  audibly  to 
Travis,  "  have  you  any  bread  left?  I  am  so  hungry." 

"There  is!  there  is  !"  cried  Travis,  about  to  rise;  but  he 
stopped  in  the  effort,  and  pointed  his  son  to  the  corner  of  the 
loom  —  "  There,"  said  he,  "  there,  Henry,  my  boy,  you  will  find 
some  fragments.  Go  :  get  them ;  eat,  eat,  my  poor  famishing 
boy !" 

The  fragments  were  in  a  wooden  tray,  and  stood  upon  a  low 
table  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  The  boy's  eye  turned  in  the 
direction  to  which  he  was  pointed,  and,  with  eager  appetite,  he 
started  up  to  seize  upon  the  spoil,  when,  at  a  motion  from  Ingle- 
hardt,  Brunson  strode  between,  seized  upon  the  tray,  and  lifted 
it  above  his  head  as  the  boy  grasped  at  it.  Henry  grappled 
him  with  a  return  of  the  fiercer  mood  of  youth,  which  starvation 
had  not  yet  subdued.  But  a  rough,  push  of  Brunson  threw  him 
down  upon  the  straw,  where  he  crouched,  sobbing  bitterly  in  his 
disappointment  and  mortification. 

"  Monster  !"  cried  Travis,  "  will  you  not  even  suffer  the  boy 
'Jo  cat  what  his  father  has  left  ?" 

"  'Tain't  'lowable,"  answered  Brunson,  with  a  laugh,  "  we're 
a  dieting  the  young  gentleman  for  the  business  of  the  wars,  and 
the  good  of  his  health." 

"  Inglehardt,  there  shall  be  a  day  of  horrid  settlement  between 
us  for  this  !  I  ask  but  a  day  —  an  hour  !" 

"  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  The  proverb 
xmes  pat.  Shall  I  read  you  this  letter  now,  Captain  Travis  ?" 

"  Read  or  not !     What  matters  it  to  me  ?" 

"But  your  son  !" 

"  Ah  !"  with  a  sort  of  shriek,  "my  son  !  my  son  !  Read,  sir 
—  let  me  hear  !  And  oh  !  if  it  be  possible  to  save  this  child, 
by  any  concession  less  than  the  more  cruel  sacrifice  of  another, 
I  am  prepared  to  make  it." 

"  Why  will  you  call  it  a  sacrifice,  Captain  Travis  ?  Do  I 
offer  less  than  marriage  to  your  daughter  ?" 

"  God  of  heaven  !  As  if  there  could  be  a  worse  sacrifice  for 
the  dear  child-heart,  that  is  destined  to  rest  for  hope,  and  life, 
and  succor,  upon  such  a  bosom  as  yours!  But  read  —  read 
V«rt  us  hear  the  worst." 

And  Inglehardt  read  the  letter,  as  follows  : — 


TORTURO    --APPLICATION   OP   "THE   QUESTION."          215 

•*  MY  3HILD,  MY  DEAR  BERTHA  :  To  you  alone  can  I  look  for 
the  rescue  of  your  brother  and  myself.  We  are  in  the  power  of 
an  enemy,  who  requires  your  hand  in  marriage  for  the  safety  of 
my  own  and  my  son's  life.  We  have  forfeited  the  security  of 
British  law.  My  own  offences  are  such  that,  delivered  to  the 
commandant  of  Charleston,  as  I  am  threatened,  my  death  —  an 
ignominious  death  —  must  follow.  Your  brother  is  a  captive 
also,  charged  with  murdering  the  king's  soldiers  without  a  war 
rant.  He  is  suffering  in  health  by  his  unavoidable  confinement. 
He  can  not  long  live  in  the  condition  in  which  he  is  kept ;  and 
his  release  and  mine  are  made  to  depend  entirely  on  you.  Let 
me  implore  you,  my  child,  to  come  to  our  succor,  and  to  save  us. 
Become  the  wife  of  Captain  Inglehardt,  and  suffer  us  once  more 
to  see  the  light  of  heaven,  and  enjoy  the  freedom  of  earth. 
Come,  my  beloved  child,  to  our  rescue ;  and,  in  making  the 
sacrifice  of  your  choice,  to  my  own,  receive  the  blessings  of 
your  fond,  but  fettered  father.  [P.  S.J  You  will  readily  con 
ceive  our  exigency,  when  I  tell  you  that  my  wrists  and  feet  are 
even  now  in  manacles  of  iron,  and  have  been  so  from  the  first 
day  of  my  captivity.  For  a  time,  indeed,  your  brother  Henry 
was  held  in  similar  fetters." 

"Truly,  a  most  encouraging  statement  —  one  admirably  cal 
culated  to  secure  the  affections  of  a  daughter  for  him,  to  whon? 
the  father  and  brother  owe  such  Jbecoming  ornaments  as  these  !" 

Such  was  the  comment  of  Travis.  But  the  boy,  unexpectedly 
to  all,  had  his  comment  also.  He  had  raised  himself  up  when 
ne  reading  of  the  letter  was  commenced,  and  his  eye  bright 
ened  with  attention,  while  his  countenance  darkened  with  indig 
nation.  Scarcely  had  his  father  spoken  the  single  sentence  we 
have  reported,  when  the  son,  in  subdued,  but  deep  and  emphatic 
tones,  said  to  him  : — 

"  Oh  !  sir,  you  will  write  no  such  letter !" 

"  No  !  sooner  than  pen  such  an  epistle  to  child  of  mine,  wel 
come  the  gallows." 

"And  hear  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  rising  from  the  floor — no 
'onger  sobbing — no  longer  weak  —  and  addressing  Inglehardt, 
"hoar  you,  sir,  even  were  my  father  to  write  such  a  letter  — 
even  were  rny  sister  to  consent  to  such  a  sacrifice  —  it  should 


241  EUTAW. 

never  profit  you!  I  should  never  sleep  —  never  suffer  you  to 
sleep  —  in  the  possession  of  Bertha  Travis.  Day  and  night 
should  I  follow  your  steps,  seeking  my  opportunity ;  and  when 
it  came,  I  should  shoot  or  stab  you  without  remorse,  even  were 
you  to  seek  for  safety  in  her  protecting  arms.  Know  me,  Cap 
tain  Inglehardt,  boy  as  I  arn  —  feeble  as  I  am  —  fettered  where 
I  am — know  me  for  your  enem.y ;  and  if  God  will  permit,  for 
your  fate  —  sworn  for  your  destruction  should  you  ever  succeed 
in  your  designs  against  my  -sister  !" 

The  father  dragged  the  boy  down  to  him  on  the  straw,  and 
kissed  him  passionately,  while  his  sobs  sounded  loudly  in  the 
apartment. 

"  Verily,"  was  the  cool  remark  of  Inglehardt,  who  could  sup 
press  any  show  of  feeling,  even  when  it  was  most  poignantly 
bitter,  "  Verily,  the  diet  of  our  lieutenant,  Dick  of  Tophet,  is 
not  so  debilitating  after  all !  Pip  or  not,  our  chicken  still  has 
the  strength  to  crow  !  But  how  long  will  it  last,  Brunson,  eh  !" 

"  Till  the  next  hungry  fit,  I  reckon,  cappiu." 

"Take  him  hence  —  these  passionate  greetings  help  the 
health  neither  of  father  nor  son.  Take  him  away.  I  would 
counsel  Andrews  to  give  the  lad  a  little  less  salt  to  his  gruel. 
It  hurts  the  juices." 

The  boy  clung  to  his  father's  neck  as  he  heard  these  words ; 
but  Branson  was  as  brutal,  in  a  more  sober  way,  as-  Joel  An 
drews  ;  and  it  was  with  violent-arid  unscrupulous  force,  that  he 
tor*  '':e  parent  and  the  child  apart,  bearing  the  latter  away  to 

tvn  dreary  fastness. 

'  Well,  Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt,  rising,  "  I  trust  that 
a  more  prolonged  meditation  in  the  solitude — free  from  the 
harassing  cares  and  strifes  of  the  world  —  will  bring  you  to  a 
wiser  determination.  I  shall  preserve  this  letter — isn't  it  a 
model  ? — in  the  faith  that  you  will  yet  implore  me  to  make  use 
of  it." 

"  Never  !  never  !" 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  the  other,  as  he  prepared  to  depart. 

"  Inglehardt !"  cried  Travis,  as  he  went  out,  "  Inglehardt — if 
you  are  born  of  woman  —  if  you  ever  had  a  mother  —  if  you 
believe  in  a  God  —  in  a  future  —  in  a  hell!  —  let  them  not,  for 
your  soul's  peace  —  sailer  them  not  r..  starve  that  noble  boy! 


TOltTURO  —  APPLICATION    OP    "THE   QyESTION.'  2-4  J 

Beware  of  wliat  you  do  !  Beware  of  tlie  vengeance  which  sucb 
cruelty  shall  bring  down  upon  your  head  in  horrors  such  as  hell 
can  not  surpass." 

"  Good-night,  Captain  Travis,  good-night.  Light  suppers  se 
cure  pleasant  dreams.  May  yours  be  such  as  will  improve  your 
philosophy,"  and  vouchsafing  no  other  answer,  Inglehardt  dis 
appeared,  locking  the  door  after  him. 

"0  God!  be  with  we  and  the  boy,  in  mercy!  Keep  him 
under  thine  own  eye  —  save  him,  External  Father  of  all  mercies, 
save  him  —  save  and  protect  my  poor  children,  whatever  fate 
you  assign  to  me  !" 

The  prayer  of  the  father  was  poured  forth  in  broken  sobbing 
accents,  with  his  face  buried  in  the  straw  of  his  dungeon. 

The  next  morning,  with  the  dawn,  Inglehardt  was  off  on  a 
foraying  expedition. 


BUTA* 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

PHILOSOPHY    OF    «  BOOK-L'ARNING." 

DICK  OF  TOPHET  returned  to  Muddicoat  Castle  the  night  of 
the  day  when  Inglehardt  departed.  Ho  received  the  report  of 
firunsou  in  silence  ;  listened,  but  without  answer  or  comment,  to 
a  message  which  his  captain  had  left  for  him ;  and  then  passed 
into  the  den  where  he  kept  with  the  others,  and  ordered  a  bowl 
of  coffee  by  way  of  appetizer  for  the  evening.  Dick  of  Tophet 
was  singularly  grave  for  his  companions  —  not  so  morose  as 
usual  —  but  close,  more  reserved,  and  more  serious.  But  he  had 
lost  his  taste  for  neither  cards  nor  Jamaica ;  and,  in  these  re 
sources,  Muddicoat  Castle  was  well  supplied.  They  soon  — 
Dick,  Brunson,  Halliday,  and  Nelson  —  began  to  game,  and 
Dick  was  lucky,  as  usual ;  but,  as  Brunson  phrased  it,  he  was 
still  in  the  dumps. 

"  What's  hit  you  on  an  end,  Dick  V  was  the  query  of  "  the 
Trailer"  —  the  only  one  of  the  party  who  could  have  ventured 
on  such  a  liberty  with  this  savage  customer. 

"II — 1,  I  reckon!"  was  the  reply  of  the  swamp-diabolus. 
"  It  wants  me  to  stir  up  the  brimstone  that's  a-boiling  for  the 
good  of  all  of  you." 

"  Well,  don't  make  it  too  hot  for  summer-time,"  said  "  the 
Trailer"  coolly.  "  Ef  it's  a  hard  winter,  a  blaze  of  brimstone 
m  out  be  ao  comforting  as  one  of  lightwood  ;  but,  for  the  summer 
time,  it's  a  wasteful  extravagance.  —  Is  that  your  load?" 

"Yes;  well  take  what  you  kin  give  us !"  —  and  the  game 
proceeded,  and  the  stakes  were  lifted,  and;  as  wns  usually  the 
?ase,  fortune  seemed  to  favor  Dick  of  Tophet 


PHILOSOPHY    OF   "  BOOK-L'ARNING."  241 

"Well,  the  d — 1  sarves  you  faithfully,  Dick,  even  of  lie  does 
call  upon  you,  now  and-then,  to  stir  up  his  fires.  You  rake  up 
our  shillings  jest  as  ef  you  had  a  born,  nateral  light  to  'em." 

"Well,  I  spends  'em  as  fast  as  I  gits  'em,  and  you  always 
has  a  share.  I'm  a  wasteful  pussou.  You  all  owes  me  more,  I 
reckon,  than  you  ever  kin  pay  me.  I  hope  you  keep  it  in  recol 
lection." 

"  Wait  tell  I  gits  my  pay,"  said  Branson ;  and  the  rest  echoed 
him,  while  acknowledging  their  indebtedness. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  pay  !  So  long  as  I  has,  I  don't  want 
But  business  is  gitting  mighty  dull,  fellows.  Pickings  is  hard 
to  come  at  now.  We've  gutted  the  country  pretty  much." 

"  Did  you  pick  up  any  fellows  ?" 

"A  few  pokes  —  not  much;  but  they  hev  horses.  I  reckon 
I'll  get  a  few  more  to-morrow.  Griffith  has  his  eye  on  three 
skunks  that  hev  got  to  be  mighty  ragged  in  the  swamps.  But, 
onless  thyar's  a  Icetle  bait  of  gould  on  the  hook,  the  fish  don't 
bite  free  these  times.  And  whar's  the  gould  to  come  from,  or  the 
silver  either,  jest  now  ?  I'm  jubous  things  ain't  guine  right  with 
the  red-coats.  Our  cappin's  mighty  close  with  his  money.  It's 
all  work  and  no  pay,  jest  now ;  and  a  man  makes  a  breeze  at 
the  resk  of  his  neck  every  side." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you're  considerin'  the  matter,  Dick,"  quoth 
the  Trailer,  "for,  you  see,  where  we  is  now,  it's  onpossible  to 
make  a  raise  any  how,  and  we  kaint  hope  for  much  out  of  our 
rig'lar  pay.  Thyar's  no  windfalls ;  and  besides,  Dick,  this 
squatting  here,  jest  only  to  watch  them  two  captivated  prison 
ers,  is  a  mighty  tiresome  business." 

"  That's  true ;  but,  you  see,  ef  we  kin  bring  this  tough  ole 
Cappin  Travis  to  our  tarms,  we  gits  well  paid  in  the  eend. 
That's  sartain.  Jest  so  soon  as  he's  consentin*  to  his  darter's 
marriage  with  Inglehardt,  then  our  cappin  will  come  down, 
handsome,  with  the  gould  picters  of  King  George  and  the  old 
dragon,  out  of  the  ole  cappin's  pockets." 

The  Trailer  reported  the  scene  of  the  previous  night  with 
fidelity  and  some  force.  Dick  listened  to  it  with  great  gravity. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'd  rather  we  could  fix  it  so  as  to  make 
the  starvation  fall  on  the  father,  rather  than  that  young  cock ; 
fur  I  like  the  fellow.  He's  got  a  big  heart  in  his  leetle  buzzom, 


U!''<  EUTAW. 

and  it  rather  goes  agin  me  to  harness  him  down  so  tight.  !?•« 
we've  got  to  squeeze  somehody  to  git  the  gould.  We  kaint  do 
without  that.  Even  the  buzzards  must  be  fed,  you  know." 

"  But  a  man  ought  to  git  better  feeding  than  a  buzzard,  Dick." 

"  En  so  I'm  thinking  all  the  time ;  but  how's  it  that  one  man 
will  git  the  feed  of  twenty,  and  another  man  won't  git  his  own 
poor  share  of  one,  though  he  has  all  the  trouble  and  the  resk  ? 
It's  owing  to  the  harrystocracy  that  keeps  all  the  book-Taming 
to  themselves.  That's  the  how.  I  wonder,  when  the  fighting's 
done,  how  we're  to  git  along  1  Do  you  feel  like  turning  plough 
man,  Hafe  ?  You've  been  a  blacksmith  afore  now,  Ben  Nelson  ; 
but  I  reckon  you  never  loved  the  trade  too  much.  And  you'-vt 
been  a  sort  of  overseer,  in  your  time,  Halliday,  but  I  reckon 
you  never  was  no  great  shakes  at  planting  !  What's  to  become 
of  we  all  ?  That's  the  puzzle.  As  for  me,  I  do  believe  I'm  not 
good  for  nothing  but  skrimmaging." 

"And  I  don't  see,  old  fellow,"  quoth  Brunson,  "  that  skrim 
maging  ever  did  much  for  you,  more  than  scouting  for  me  !  It 
filled  your  pockets  one  day,  may  be;  but  somebody  else  come 
along  the  next,  and  skrimmaged  you  empty  agin." 
p  "  Ah  !  it's  owing  to  the  want  of  book-Taming.  Them  har- 
rystocrats  keep  all  the  books  to  themselves ;  but  we'll  see  !  I 
reckon  books  ain't  hard  to  1'arn,  efter  all ;  for,  you  sees,  a  poor 
leetlo  brat  of  a  boy,  knee-high  to  a  young  turkey  —  why,  he 
kin  Tarn  to  read,  and  spell,  and  write ;  and  I  don't  see  what's 
to  hender  a  grown  man  from  book-1'arning,  when  he  knows  so 
much  more  than  a  boy.  It  ought  to  be  more  easy  to  him."  . 

"  Ay,  that  sounds  like  reason  and  sense,  Dick ;  but,  mout  be 
he  knows  too  much  to  1'arn  from  books.  'Tain't  so  easy  tc 
break  in  an  old  woman  or  an  old  mule.  You  hev  to  begin  with 
'em  before  the  muscle  gits  too  tough,  or  they  won't  feel  the 
kairb,  and  they  don't  Tarn  the  right  paces." 

"  Well,  I  don't  feel  too  stiff  in  the  j'ints  yit  to  try  a  tumble 
in  strange  fields,"  said  Dick  of  Tophet,  "  and  I  ain't  sich  a 
bloody  fool  as  to  kick  against  Parning,  with  the  idee  that  I 
knows  everything  a'ready.  Some  things  I  knows  jest  like  B 
book,  and  nobody  kin  teach  me:  but  thyar's  a  hundred  other 
things,  I  reckon,  that  I  knows  nothing  about,  no  more  than  a 
blind  old  inillliorsc.  —  Ilninl  up  that  Jimmaker,  Ilalliday  —-Tip 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    "BOOK-L'ARNING."  WJ1'J 

a-drying  up  for  want  of  a  drink  !  Ah,  boys,  ef  we  know'd  as 
much  about  book-1'arning  as  we  knows  about  whiskey  and  Jim- 
maker,  I  reckon  we  wouldn't  be  hyar  to-night,  playing  second- 
fiddle  to  any  cappin  of  mounted  men  in  the  whole  British 
army." 

"  Or  the  rebels'  either !  That's  a  most  redikilous  truth, 
Dick." 

"  Yes ;  but  what's  more  redikilous  than  to  think  of  a  great 
grown  man  like  me  having  to  ax  a  brat  of  a  boy,  knee-high  to 
a  bantam,  to  read  a  book  to  him,  and  tell  him  what's  the  sense 
of  it?  That's  what  I  call  a  most  cruel,  redikilous  thing  —  a 
deuced  sight  more  redikilous  than  anything  else  1  knows  on ! 
Yit,  that's  a  sight  to  be  seed  everywhar,  jest  for  the  looking 
out  for  it.  Them  harrystocrats  makes  it  a  p'int  to  edicate  their 
sons  in  book-1'arning,  and  their  darters  too ;  and  that's  more 
redikilous  yit.  That  a  woman-child,  that  I  could  squeeze  up 
to  a  mummy  by  jest  one  gripe  in  these  five  fingers  hyar  —  that 
she  should  be  able  to  read  out  of  books  and  written  papers,  and 
I  not  good  for  nothing  in  that  line !  Thyar's  something  quite 
agin  nater  in  these  doings.  —  Ben  Nelson,  h'ist  up  that  Jim- 
maker." 

And  thus,  drinking,  gaming,  and  lamenting  his  educational 
deficiencies,  after  his  own  fashion,  Dick  of  Tophet  brooded  for 
two  mortal  hours  in  a  manner  very  new  to  his  habit  Sud 
denly,  at  the  conclusion  of  a  game,  he  pushed  away  the  cards, 
swallowed  another  mouthful  of  rum,  and  rose  from  the  table. 
In  doing  ^  ,*.  fell  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Pic)  J3en!"  said  Dick. 

"  Wbv ,  .„  s  a  book,  sargeant !"  exclaimed  Nelson. 

"  I  -yvr,  ,.\>r  how  you  come  to  know  that  so  quick?" 

"  Well,  "       -  it's  a  book,  sargeant." 

"Yes,  I          t^s  you  sees  it,  and  feels  it,  too;   but  how  you, 
come  so  quick  to  the  knowing  of  what  'tis,  that's  the  puzzle ! 
1  didn't  think  you  hed  got  quite  so  much  edication." 

"  But  whar  did  you  git  it,  Dick  ?"  demanded  "  the  Trailer," 
showing  some  little  curiosity. 

"  Whar  ?  well,  from  a  woman,  I  reckon." 

"  And  what  air  you  guine  to  do  with  it  V 

"  Gkti  it  ef  I  kin,  and  see  what  1'arning  I  kin  git  out  of  it 

11* 


250  EUTAW. 

I  wants  to  hear  what's  in  it,  and  jest  see  what  sort  of  stuff  it  is 
that  makes  a  harrystocrat  better  than  a  common  man." 

"  And  do  you  think  sieh  a  book  as  that's  guinc  to  help  you  ?" 

"Why  not?  I  reckon  there's  something  of  Parning  in  all 
books,  and  they  all  ain't  jest  alike,  for  they  calls  them  by  dif 
ferent  names.  Now,  the  woman  what  gin  me  this  book,  she's  a 
good  woman,  and  she  says  it's  a  good  book.  So  I  reckon  It 
must  be  full  of  precious  fine  Parning.  But  look  here,  Rafe  : 
hyar's  something  mighty  curious,  to  begin.  Jest  look  at  that 
picter  thar,  of  the  poor  feller  guine  up  hill,  with  that  great  bun 
dle  on  his  back,  and  no  we'pon ;  and  do  you  see  what  an  etarnal 
ten-footer  of  a  chap  stands  ready  for  him,  with  a  most  amazin' 
big  club — hickory,  I  reckon !  Now,  what's  the  little  fellow's 
chaincc,  without  no  we'pon  at  all,  with  a  great  bundle  on  his 
back,  and  agin  that  all-fired  ten-footer  up  thar?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he's  got  no  more  chaince  than  a  sucking 
kaif  [calf  J  agin  a  buffalo  !  Why  don't  he  cut  a  stick  out  of  the 
woods,  and  throw  off  the  bundle  ?" 

"  Ah  !  that's  what  he'd  like  to  do  ;  but  he  kaint.  He's  got 
to  mount  hill,  and  fight  the  ten-footer  jest  as  he  is,  and  he 
kaint  fling  off  the  bundle  —  not  yit." 

"  Then  he's  a  gone  coon." 

"  No,  by  the  hokies  !  The  old  lady  tell'd  me,  that  he  got  off 
safe,  and  got  up  the  hill,  a'ter  awhile,  tho'  he  had  to  carry  that 
bundle  in  all  his  battles." 

"  That  was  hard  business." 

"  That  bundle,  Rafe  Brunson,  and  hyar  you  too,  Ben  Nelson 
—  and  hyar  you  too,  Halliday ;  that  bundle  was  all  of  his  sins, 
packed  hard  like  a  tobacco-hogshead — clapt  tight  on  his  shoul 
ders,  and  sticking  faist,  like  a  pitch-plaister,  to  the  naked  skin  ! 
And  I  reckon  the  meaning  is,  that  it's  a  man's  sins  that  keeps 
him  from  gitting  up,  and  gitting  on,  in  the  world ;  and  leaves 
him  at  the  marcy  of  sich  fellows  as  that  ten-footer  you  sees  upon 
the  hill.  What  I  wants  to  know,  now,  is  jest  how  the  poor 
leetle  chap  got  shetof  his  great  big  bundle.  Now,  boys,  what's 
it  keeps  us  down  hill  ?  Hev  we  got  our  big  bundles  on  our 
shoulders,  and  don't  know  it?" 

The  question  was  a  poser.  No  one  attempted  to  answer  it. 
The  condition  of  Poor  1'il-n-Ijn,  however,  occasioned  no  small 


PHILOSOPHY    OF     "  BOOK-L'ARNING."  1 

speculation  among  our  reprobates,  who  found  it  no  ways  easy 
to  give  any  but  a  literal  and  physical  interpretation  to  the  alle 
gorical  and  spiritual  problem  which  the  inquiries  involved 
And,  after  a  long  and  curious  examination  of  the  picture,  and  a 
fruitless  turning  of  the  leaves,  Dick  of  Tophct  finally  closed  it, 
ytuck  the  volume  into  his  pocket,  and  said : — 

"  Now,  boys,  a  swig  all  round,  and  hyar's  that  we  may  git  our 
edication  without  flinging  away  our  knapsacks !" 

They  drank  heartily  to  the  wish,  but  had  scarcely  finished, 
before  Halliday  suddenly  put  in : — 

"  I  say,  sergeant,  I  sees  how  the  little  fellow  got  up  the  hill, 
and  upset  the  ten-footer." 

"Eh!  how?" 

"  Why,  he  never  showed  his  pistols,  tell  he  was  close  upon 
the  inemy ;  then  he  down'd  him  suddently,  with  a  bullet." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  that  was  the  way;  for,  you  see,  ef  he  warn't 
quite  sure  that  he  Tied  the  we'pon,  at  hand,  to  do  the  big  fellow's 
business,  he'd  never  ha*  gone  up  hill  so  bravely.  He'd  'a'  fought 
shy,  and  fetch'd  a  compass  round  the  hill,  or  snaked  off  among 
the  bushes  out  of  sight.  I  reckon  'twas  jest  so.  He  had  the 
pistols  in  his  buzzom.  But  no  !  Mother  Avinger  tell'd  me  sol 
emn,  he  had  never  no  we'pon  at  all." 

"  So  you  got  the  book  from  Mother  Avinger,  Dick  ?"  said 
the  Trailer,  looking  curiously  into  the  other's  eyes.  Dick  of 
Tophet  scowled  at  him  in  return. 

"  Yes  :  you  worked  it  out  of  me." 

"  It  slipt  out,  you  mean.  What  I  wonder  is,  Dick,  that  you 
ever  went  thar,  knowing  what  we  knows  ?" 

"And  I  wonder  myself,  Rafe — I  do.  'Twas  jest  as  the 
notion  tuk  me.  So  I  went.  I  carried  her  a  peck  of  salt." 

"  The  d — 1  you  did  !  Well,  there's  no  eend  to  the  wonders. 
And  she  tuk  it  ?" 

"  Yes."  The  answer  was  rather  churlishly  given,  and  Dick 
of  Tophet  turned  away,  saying  — "  Nough  of  that,  Rafe. 
Hyar's  to  you,  boys,  and  a  good  sleep  for  all." 

He  finished  his  can  of  liquor  as  ho  spoke,  and,  with  a  slight 
ly  uncertain  gait,  stepped  out  into  the  open  air.  He  walked 
about  the  hammock,  to  and  fro,  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour  — 
seeming  undecided  somewhat  in  nls  purposes;  at  length,  ns  if 


262  EUTAW. 

lie  h.i'l  reached  conclusion,  or  resolve,  he  strode  into  the  cab;~< 
of  the  Blodgits. 

"Well,  Pete,  how's  the  captivated  boyi" 

"  Well,  I  reckon.     He's  thar." 

"  Open  :  I  wants  a  leetle  talk  with  him." 

The  next  moment  found  him  in  the  straw  and  darkness  ot 
poor  Harry  Travis's  dungeon.  The  boy  seemed  to  stait  from 
u  doze,  and  murmured  out,  in  broken  tones : — 

"  I'll  ride  now,  mother  —  the  horse  is  at  the  door." 

"  He's  a-dreaming  of  home,  and  his  horse,  and  his  mammy. 
That's  the  good  of  sleep.  It  makes  a  fellow  so  rich  in  his  own 
conceit.  It  gits  him  out  of  captivation.  He's  on  horseback, 
and  jest  ready  to  ride  where  the  devil  pleases." 

"  Who's  that  ?"  demanded  -Henry  Travis,  now  thoroughly 
awakened. 

"  Well,  it  might  be  the  old  blackamoor  devil  himself,  for  all 
you  kin  see  in  this  place.  How's  you  gitting  on,  boy  ?" 

"  Well,"  was  the  indifferent  answer. 

"  Hello,  out  thar,  Pete  Blodgit ;  bring's  a  light.  Put  some 
knots  into  this  old  chimney  hyar,  and  let's  see  if  we  kin  make 
it  blaze." 

The  first  thought  of  Henry,  when  he  distinguished  the  voice 
of  his  brutal  captor,  was  that  he  had  come  to  murder  him.  He 
had  heard,  and  read,  of  such  a  fate  for  young  captives,  like  him 
self,  who  had  lived  too  long  for  their  neighbors.  The  poor  boy 
thought  of  the  bright  sky,  and  the  green  earth,  the  woods  in 
which  he  hunted,  the  waters  where  he  fished;  —  and  he  said  to 
himself — "I  shall  see  them  no  more;"  and  he  thought  of  his 
sister,  and  mother,  father,  and  Willie  Sinclair ;  and  his  heart 
swelled  within  him,  and  his  emotion  became  too  great  for 
thought.  And  then  he  prayed  silently  —  prayed  for  God's  pro 
tection,  failing  that  of  man;  but,  just  then,  the  idea  of  Willie 
Sinclair  rushing  in  to  help  him,  made  him  feel  involuntarily 
around  him  for  a  weapon,  in  the  idea  of  doing  something  by 
which  to  help  himself.  But  he  felt,  nothing  but  his  straw  ;  and 
a  deep  moan  broke  from  him  \vithout  restraint,  as  he  laid  him 
self  down  upon  the  straw  in  despair. 

"  Don't  gru-.t,  TJ ay — don't  grunt ,  a  brave  young  cock-spar 
row,  sich  t.  /  sKca-.,ii*'t  grunt  because  you're  captivated 


PHILOSOPHY   OF    "BOOK-L'ARNING."  2o3 

Wait  a  bit  tell  we  kin  git  a  light,  and  then  you'll  brighten  up 
Hurrah,  Pete." 

The  torch  was  brought,  and  other  brands  added  to  it,  in  the 
clay  chimney,  and  soon  the  little  den  was  conspicuously  alight 
in  its  farthest  corners. 

"  Thar,  my  brave  little  fellow,  what  do  you  say  to  that  ?  The 
sun's  a-coming  out,  you  think.  But  'tain't  near  to-day  yit;  and 
I  want  some  talk  with  you.  —  Git  out,  Pete  Blodgit,  and  go  the 
rounds ;  and  see  that  you  keep  a  bright  look  out,  tell  I  wants 
you  agin.  And  tell  your  'spectable  mammy  to  put  her  rheu- 
inatiz  to  sleep,  tell  I'm  out  of  hearing  of  it;  you  hear.  Shet 
the  door,  and  skip,  or  limp,  jest  as  you  pleases." 

Somewhat  surprised,  Henry  Travis  was  now  sitting  up  in  his 
straw,  and  watching  every  movement  of  the  ruffian.  There  was 
neither  bench  nor  table  in  the  den.  Dick  of  Tophet  went  out 
and  returned  with  a  bench. 

"  Thar,"  said  he,  "  sit  thar,  my  young  un  ;  let's  have  a  leetle 
talk  together.  I  reckon  you  don't  much  care  about  it  yourself; 
but  I  don't  know  either,  seeing  as  how  you  hain't  got  much 
ch'ice  of  comp'ny.  It's  better  'cording  to  my  idee,  to  have  the 
devil  himself  to  talk  to  sometimes,  than  nobody  at  all !" 

By  this  time,  poor  Henry  had  pretty  much  arrived  at  the 
same  conclusion,  and  he  was  the  more  reconciled  to  look  with 
toleration  upon  his  present  visitor,  from  that  paralyzing  and 
prostrating  sense  of  utter  loneliness,  which  is  so  oppressive  "to 
the  young. 

"  You've  got  I'arning,  my  boy,  I  reckon  ?  You've  got  your 
edication  ?" 

"No." 

'*  What !  they  hain't  1'arned  you  to  read  in  books,  hand- 
write,  and  printing,  yit  ?  You  kaint  read  books  ?  Why,  what 
the are  you  good  for  ?" 

Henry  was  half  inclined  to  answer  'nothing';  but  a  growing 
sense  of  policy  prompted  him  to  think  better  of  it,  and  he  re 
plied —  however  coldly  and  abruptly  —  civilly  and  to  the 
point : — 

"  Yes,  I  can  read  and  write ;  but  I  haven't  got  my  education 
yet." 


254  EUTAW. 


"  Oh,  you  mean  you  \\&mt  finished  gitting  it.     There's  more, 
and  better,  whar  the  other  comes  from  ?     That's  it,  eh  1" 
"  Yes." 

"Well,  that's  what  I  thought.  I  s'pose,  a  man,  though  he's 
never  so  1'arned,  kin  still  be  I'arning  something  every  day  he 
gits  older.  I  knows  tliat  myself,  in  fighting,  and  scouting,  and 
sarcumventions.  Why,  thar's  '  The  Trailer'  now,  that  knows 
as  much  about  scouting  as  the  whole  British  army,  yit  he  says 
he  Tarns  some  new  sarcumventions  every  time  he  beats  about 
the  bush.  You,  I  'spec',  will  be  wanting  some  day  to  be  a  law 
yer  ;  and  you  must  have  the  I'arning  for  that  ;  or  a  doctor  ;  or 
something  else  that  you  may  aim  the  guineas  by.  But  you 
knows  enough  for  me  now.  See  thar  !  I've  brought  you  a 
book,  and  I  wants  you  to  read  in  it  for  me.  See,  thar's  a  pic- 
tur  —  a  man  going  up  hill,  with  a  great  bundle  on  his  back,  and 
no  we'pon,  to  fight  a  ten-footer  !  What  do  you  make  out  of 
that,  I  wonder?  But,  I  s'pose  the  book'll  tell  in  the  print. 
Thyar's  some  writing  thar,  on  the  white  leaf;  —  what's  that 
writing  first  1  I'll  see  what  you  knows." 

We  need  not  say  that  the  surprise  of  Henry  Travis  was  duly 
increased  by  this  application  ;  and  he  was  not  at  first  persuaded 
to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  his  captor.  He  was  about  to  fling 
the  proffered  book  from  him,  and  to  break  out  into  bitter  speech  ; 
but  the  same  little  suggestion  of  policy,  which  prompted  him  to 
answer  the  ruffian  civilly,  now  served  to  reconcile  him  to  the 
proposed  exercise.  Besides,  to  say  the  truth,  poor  Henry 
longed  for  a  book  —  no  matter  of  what  sort  —  even  more  than 
he  longed  for  a  companion.  A  book,  in  his  situation,  was  the 
safest  of  companions,  the  most  honest,  the  least  likely  to  de 
ceive  and  defraud  the  hope  —  the  companion  from  whom  he 
could  have  no  reason  to  fear  treachery.  Yes,  he  gazed  at  the 
book  with  eyes  of  hunger,  even  as  he  gazed  at  Dick  of  Tophet 
with  eyes  of  surprise.  While  he  hesitated,  the  other  resumed  : 
"  Come,  boy,  don't  be  huffish.  'Tain't  much  to  do,  ef  you  kin 
do  it.  You  don't  like  me,  I  knows,  and  you  hain't  got  any  good 
reason  to  like  me;  that  I  knows  too  —  and  I  don't  always  like 
myself;  and,  you  see,  I  reckon,  that  I'm  a  leetle  in  liquor  jest 
now.  Jimmaker'i  an  artful  drink.  It  sneeks  mighty  soon  into 
the  brain.  Never  you  mind,  drunk  ••>!•  sober,  I  wants  you  to  read 


PHILOSOPHY   OF    "  BOOK-L'ARNING." 

to  me  some  of*  that  book.  I  don't  reckon  I  could  stand  it  all. 
'Twould  be  too  strong,  like  the  Jimmaker ;  but  a  leetle  now,  on 
trial,  I  may  say.  Come,  my  lad,  jest  begin  a  bit,  and  let  me 
hear  ln>w  it  sounds.  And,  first  of  all,  jest  read  that  writing 
thar." 

The  boy  took  the  book  and  read  the  writing — written  in  a 
boy's  large  hand — as  follows  : — 

"  Gustavus  Avinger,  his  book;  a  gift  from  his  mother,  this  May  13,  1771. 
My  birth-day.  I  am  now  12  years  old. 

"  '  Steal  not  this  book,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  fear  the  gallows  be  your  end  !* " 

Dick  of  Tophet  looked  stricken  —  aghast — as  he  heard  the 
writing  read. 

"  Is  that  the  writin'  V  he  asked. 

"  That's  all." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you  kin  read.  I  reckon  it's  triar,  jest  as  you 
say.  And  'twas  his  book  the  old  woman  gin  me !  And  she 
never  made  a  wry  face  !  And  she  never  said  a  hard  word  to 
me!" 

This,  though  spoken  aloud,  was  spoken  unconsciously  —  to 
nimself. 

And  the  forehead  of  the  ruffian  settled  down  between  his 
palms,  while  he  sat  upon  the  rushes  ;  and  he  seemed  to  medi 
tate,  forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the  captive.  Henry's  eyes, 
meanwhile,  alternated  between  the  face  of  his  keeper,  and  the 
pages  of  the  book  within  his  grasp.  The  book  was  new  to  the 
boy;  —  the  title  struck  him  —  the  picture  awakened  his  curi 
osity,  as  it  had  done  that  of  Dick  of  Tophet.  He,  too,  was 
curious  to  see  hew  the  little  fellow,  struggling  up  hill,  with  such 
a  great  pack  on  his  back,  was  to  escape  the  encounter  with  the 
fierce,  well-armed  giant,  who  held  the  only  pass  over  which  he 
could  travel. 

Dick  of  Tophet  looked  up,  suddenly,  while  the  boy  was  turn 
ing  the  pages. 

"  A  woman,"  quoth  he,  "  is  a  mighty  strange  animal.  What 
does  you  think,  my  boy  1  But  you  knows  nothing  of  women 
yit.  Do  you  reckon  a  woman  curses  out  loud,  or  only  in  hei 
heart  ?" 


256  EUTAW. 

"  I  don't  suppose  a  woman  curses  at  all.  I  never  heaid 
one  curse." 

"  I  don't  know.  'Twould  be  nater  only,  with  some  of  them 
to  curse ;  that  is,  when  they've  got  good  cause.  Is  you  the 
only  son  of  your  mammy  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  ef  I  was  to  cut  your  throat  now,  or  make  a  dig,  with 
this  knife,  atwixt  your  ribs,  so  as  to  let  your  witals  out;  —  do 
you  reckon  you're  mammy  wouldn't  curse  me  ?" 

The  boy  shuddered  at  the  horrible  suggestion,  but  did  not 
answer.  He  could  not. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you  kaint  say.  You  never  thought  of  tliat  ! 
But,  don't  be  skear'd ;  I'm  not  a  meaning  to  skear  or  hurt  you  ; 
and  we  won't  talk  any  more  about  sich  bloody  things.  But, 
jest  you  read  a  bit  for  me,  and  we'll  see  how  we  like  the  notion 
of  the  article.  It's  a  good  book,  the  old  woman  said,  and  I 
reckon  it  must  be,  seeing  as  how  she  gin  it  to  her  own  son,  for 
his  birthday.  Jest  read  a  bit  now  —  begin  at  the  beginning; 
and  we  may  onderstand  ho\y  that  poor  little  fellow  with  the 
bundle  took  his  first  start  up  hill." 

And  the  boy  read  patiently  for  an  hour  by  the  flickering  light 
of  the  pine-torches  in  the  fireplace,  till  his  young  head  drooped 
over  the  pages  in  which  his  young  heart  had  already  begun  to 
take  an  interest.  But  nature  was  temporarily  exhausted.  As 
his  voice  faltered,  Dick  of  Tophet  looked  up. 

"You're  sleepy,  I  reckon,  boy;  and  so — " 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  raising  himself  up ;  "  but  I'm  so  hun- 
gry  1— " 

"  Hungry,  is  it  ?  Humph  !  well,  that's  an  ailing  that  kin  be 
cured,  I  reckon.  You've  hed  your  'lowance  for  the  day ;  but 
night-work  must  hev  its  own  'lowance.  I'll  git  you  a  bite,  boy 
—  I  will!" 

And  he  did  so.  A  bit  of  hoecake,  and  a  slice  of  cold,  fried 
bacon  —  the  latter  an  unwonted  luxury  in  his  dungeon  —  were 
brought  to  sustain  the  boy  in  his  up-hill  labors  with  Poor  Pil 
grim.  He  devoured  the  meat  with  famishing  eagerness. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you've  done  enough  for  the  book-1'arning 
to-night,"  said  Dick  of  Tophet.  "  I  knint  say  that  I  sees  what 
it's  all  a-coming  to  ;  but  I  reckon  we'll  soon  hear  about  that  fight 


PHILOSOPHY   OF    "  BOOK-L'ARNING."  257 

the  ten-footer  on  the  hill !  Ef  I  feels  like  it,  1*11  come 
agin,  and  we'll  hev  another  s'arch  into  the  1'arning ;  and  you 
shill  hev  another  bait  for  the  night-work.  And  so  I  leaves 
you  to  sleep,  and  dream  of  your  mammy,  and  what  you  pleases 
besides." 

"  Won't  you  leave  me  the  book  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"No  !  I  reckon  I  can't  trust  it ;  for,  'twas  a  gift  to  me  —  and 
it  might  hang  another  man  to  steal  it,  you  know,  as  the  writing 
said.  So  I  won't  leave  it,  my  young  chicken  —  not  this  time  !" 

Strange !  but  poor  Henry  slept  better  than  usual  for  his  sup 
per,  and,  so  far  as  he  knew,  never  dreamed  at  all.  Strangei 
still,  his  heart  felt  lighter  and  more  hopeful,  even  from  the 
presence  of  the  dreary,  rough,  brutal  aspect  of  Dick  of  Tophet 
in  his  dungeon.  But  humanity  is  a  wonderful  dependant;  and, 
when  we  think  of  it,  none  of  its  eccentricities  may  be  considered 
strange,  when  they  are  moved  by  its  need  for  sympathy.'"' 


r 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

HOW    BUNYAN    SAVES    HELL-FIRE    DICK. 

WITH  the  dawn  of  the  next  day,  Dick  of  Tophet  rode  off  for 
Griffiths',  and  did  not  return  till  night ;  but,  scarcely  had  he 
supped,  when,  book  in  pocket,  he  proceeded  to  the  dungeon  of 
Henry  Travis,  whom  he  easily  persuaded  to  resume  his  read 
ings  ;  and  the  practice  was  continued,  off  and  on,  nightly,  with 
occasional  intervals,  for  a  week ;  by  which  time,  both  parties 
were  pretty  well  informed  as  to  the  purpose  and  progress  of 
Poor  Pilgrim.  And  both  were  interested,  though  in  different 
degree,  and  perhaps  to  different  results.  Of  course,  the  reading 
was  by  no  means  an  uninterrupted  one.  Dick  was  3ri;;bal, 
quite,  upon  the  strategics  of  the  story,  as  shown  in  the  perform 
ances  of  the  various  warring  characters ;  and  he  frequently 
interposed  a  doubt  or  an  objection,  usually  of  a  military  nature, 
as  Henry  read.  To  give  these  doubts  and  objections,  though 
sometimes  queer  and  amusing  enough,  would  too  greatly  trench 
upon  our  limits,  and  delay  our  own  progress.  We  must  leave 
it  to  the  reader  who  has  read  Bunyan,  and  who  has  conceived 
our  character  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  to  apprehend  them  for  him 
self.  Nor  shall  we  stop  to  ask  in  what  degree  this  noble  alle 
gory  of  Good  and  Evil  wrought  upcn  the  moral  of  our  ruffian. 
Enough,  if  we  suppose  that  there,  i:>  an  insensible  progress. 
Humanity  rarely  relaxes  all  hold  ir.  i  the  mortal,  while  the 
warmer  passions  live  and  work  in  his  bosom  ;  nay,  so  long  as 
chey  do  live,  no  matter  what  their  excesses,  the  heart  is  still 
susceptible  of  purification.  It  is  only  when  they  are  dead,  or 
prurient,  that  the  process  of  cure,  through  their  agency,  is  en- 
*irely  cut  off.  And  thus,  perhaps,  in  his  dungeon,  our  poor  boy, 


HOW   BUNYAN   SAVES   HELL-FIRE   DICK.  259 

Henry  Travis,  himself  suffering  —  a  mere  boy  —  thoughtless  of 
his  own  uses  —  was  an  instrument  in  the  hand  of  Providence 
for  working  upon  a  nature  which  no  more  direct  authority  could 
roach.  For  the  self-esteern  of  such  a  ruffian  as  Dick  of  Tophet 
forbids  that,  he  shall  come  auspiciously  in  contact  with  any  of 
the  recognised  apostles  of  truth. 

Ostensibly,  there  was  no  change  for  the  better  in  the  moods 
and  practice  of  the  ruffian.  We  find  him,  one  morning,  at  Grif 
fiths' —  in  a  secluded  cabin  which  the  latter  keeps  in  the  woods, 
a  mile  in  the  rear  of  his  hostel  —  drunk  and  blasphemous  !  He 
has  a.  little  circle  of  half-a-dozen  reprobates  around  him,  with 
whom  he  drinks,  games,  jests,  swears,  and  whom,  by  these  pro 
cesses,  he  evidently  seems  desirous  to  conciliate  !  He  has  suc 
ceeded  in  making  them  nearly  as  drunk  as  himself;  but  they 
look  up  to  him,  nevertheless,  with  a  certain  maudlin  reverence. 
Dick  of  Tophet  is  proverbially  a  fellow  to  be  feared. 

Among  these  conscripts,  we  discover  no  less  a  person  than 
Mat  Floyd,  brother  of  our  Nellj,  with  two  out  of  the  three 
comrades  who  escaped  with  him  from  the  hot  chase  of  Raw- 
don's  escort.  These  two  are  Clem  Wilson  and  Jack  Friday  ; 
Barney  Gibbes,  the  third,  on  his  flight,  received  a  bullet  some 
where  about  the  midriff,  of  which  he  died  in  the  swamp;  having 
succeeded  in  escaping  the  pursuit  only  to  perish  in  the  mixed 
agonies  of  a  deadly  wound,  exposure,  neglect,  and  the  absence 
of  all  succor  —  scarcely  heeded,  in  his  prayers  for  help,  by  hia 
starving  associates,  whose  own  necessities  and  terrors  made 
them  selfishly  indifferent  to  his  sufferings.  They  buried  him 
from  sight,  however,  but  did  not  forget  to  empty  his  pockets. 

The  survivors,  creeping  out  under  their  necessities,  have  got 
down  to  Griffiths'.  He  has  warmed  them  with  whiskey,  and 
strengthened  them  with  meat.  Dick  of  Tophet  has  interposed, 
at  the  right  moment,  and  the  sight  of  the  "  king's  picter"  on  "  a 
gould  guinea"  has  been  sufficient  to  persuade  them  to  incorpo 
ration  into  the  ranks  of  Inglehardt.  It  was  while  this  treaty  was 
in  progress,  and  when  these  runagates  were  preparing  to  hunt 
the  deer  in  the  swamp  —  where,  as  fugitives,  they  had  found 
"  sign"  enough  of  game  —  that  the  little  body  of  recruits  so  pain- 
fully  got  together  by  our  Dick  of  Tophet  was  dispersed  by  the 
unexpected  onslaught  of  Willie  Sinclair.  He  swept  forward 


260  EUTAW. 

tlie  survivors  —  whom  it  would  have  been  useless  i;. 
into  the  swamp-fastnesses  where  ;hey  found  temporary 
refuge  —  to  come  forth  at  leisure.  Two  nights'  reading  were 
lost  to  Dick  of  Tophet  in  consequence  of  this  affair.  The  third 
found  him  at  Griffiths',  with  the  remnant  of  his  squad.  Among 
these  were  Mat  Floyd,  Jack  Friday,  and  Clem  Wilson.  Sup 
per,  rum,  cards,  and  good-fellowship,  restored  their  spirits  ;  and 
the  tastes  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  as  well  as  their  own,  counselled 
them,  after  their  hard  usage  and  late  ill  run,  to  "  make  a  night 
of  it."  Their  orgies  were  continued  to  a  late  hour,  until,  one 
by  one,  they  sank  out  of  sight  around  the  table  where  they  had 
been  revelling,  and  soon  lost  all  consciousness  upon  the  floor  of 
the  hovel  in  which  their  revels  had  been  carried  on. 

The  lights  by  which  they  had  gamed  and  drunk  were  torches 
of  pine,  kept  up  in  the  fireplace  so  long  as  they  could  feel  a 
want  of  light ;  and,  when  this  was  no  longer  the  case,  the  blaze 
-Atu^aliy  expired.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  after' they  were 
i~l  obliviDUS,  the  room  lay  in  uj;ter  darkness.  No  sentinels  were 
.3  duty  any'vhere.  The  party  had  their  arms  about  them,  but 
'.hey  were  too  drunk  to  use  them  in  any  emergency.  They  had 
Belied  for  security  on  the  secrecy  of  their  situation  and  the  fidel 
ity  of  Griffith,  whose  interests  too  greatly  depended  on  this  class 
of  customers  tc  render  it  probable  that  he  would  betray  them 
to  any  chance  passers  of  an  enemy's  forces  —  who  could  have 
no  reason  ror  supposing  any  such  harborage  to  be  in  the  neigh 
borhood. 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour  after  the  lights  had  been 
entirely  extinguished  in  the  hovel,  and  when  all  the  inmates, 
without  exception,  were  fast  folded  in  the  embrace  of  sleep  — 
that  sleep  of  drunkenness  which  is  an  absolute  lethargy,  more 
benumbing  than  any  sleep  but  that  produced  by  opium  —  when 
a  slight  figure  might  be  seen,  in  the  faint  starlight,  to  steal  up 
to  the  door  of  their  hovel,  and  feel  carefully  its  fastenings. 
These  consisted  of  a  wooden  latch,  lifted  by  a  string  on  the 
outside,  and  within  of  a  thong  of  leather  tying  the  door  by  a 
hole  to  a  staple  in  one  of  the  logs  beside  it.  There  were  sta 
ples  for  a  bar;  a  wooden  bar  also  for  crossing  and  securing  the 
door  within ;  but  our  runagates,  in  their  deep  sense  of  security, 
arising  from  deeper  potations,  had  contented  themselves  with 


3<rw       *?T   N   HAVES   HELL-FIRE   DICK.  2Gl 

merely  using  cl>  ihjkg  of  leather  for  tlie  fastening,  and  leaving 
the  bar  unemployed  in  a  corner  —  the  necessity  of  sending  01 
going  occasionally  to  Griffiths',  for  supplies  of  rum  and  sugar, 
making  them  reluctant  to  lift  and  replace  the  huge  oaken  log 
on  each  occasion.  Doubtless  they  would  finally  have  laid  it 
securely  within  its  sockets,  on  retiring  for  the  night,  had  this 
event  been  one  of  purpose  and  deliberation.  On  the  present 
occasion,  however,  Sleep  relieved  them  from  all  cares,  as  if  as 
suring  them  that  she  would  be  the  fortress,  would  set  the  watcb, 
and  make  their  securities  fast. 

The  figure,  whom  we  have  seen  trying  at  the  door,  was  that 
of  Nelly  Floyd.  How  came  she  hither  1  How  had  she  tracked 
her  brother,  the  worthless  Mat,  from  wood  to  wood,  from  swamp 
to  swamp,  from  one  hiding-place  to  another,  till  now  she  finds 
him,  passing  from  the  service  of  one  desperate  ruffian  into  that 
of  another  of  proverbially  worse  reputation  ? 

Nelly  has  satisfied  herself  in  respect  to  the  fastenings.  She 
takes  a  knife  from  her  girdle,  smites  the  thonp-.  through  the 
crevice  of  the  door,  lifts  the  latch,  and  boldly  enters  the  apart 
ment.  She  is  now  iu  utter  darkness,  not  knowing  where  to 
turn;  but  Nelly's  resources  are  ample  for  her  purp'ses.  In  her 
pocket  is  a  box  of  tinder,  flint,  and  steel.  Here,  too,  she  carries 
some  fine  splinters  of  the  fattest  lightwood,  which  tan.cs  fire  at 
a  touch,  like  gunpowder.  She  strikes  a  light,  kindles  a  blaze 
in  the  chimney,  and  surveys  the  apartment. 

What  a  spectacle  of  bestiality  !  Nelly  looked  abouf  &mcng 
the  sleepers  with  a  countenance  of  very  natural  disgust  The 
faces  of  two  of  them  were  turned  upward.  One  of  th^se  was 
that  ef  Hell-fire  Dick.  The  begrimed,  scarred,  boardel,  am 
utterly  savage  aspect,  of  this  man,  seemed  to  fill  her  with  hor 
ror.  She  shuddered  visibly  as  she  gazed  upon  it,  but  a  fearful 
sort  of  fascination  seemed  to  fetter  her  to  the  sur™vy  for  sev 
eral  minutes.  An  expression  of  pain  appeared  in  L  r  counte 
nance.  She  turned  away  hastily  from  the  spectacle,  then  agaiL 
resumed  her  examination  of  the  revolting  features,  a,i!  ;«itb  sl:ll 
shuddering  attention,  such  as  one  engaged  in  a  scientific  oTxiri 
nation  would  bestow  upon  the  object  which  is  yet  offensive  f -: 
all  his  sensibilities. 

It  is  Certain  that  Nelly  Floyd  exhibited  a  si/sgukr  n^i  £{?-.' 


262 

f\:l  interest  in  the  study  of  the  brutai  &&*.•>>/ -JL  jf  cur  monster 
par  excellence.  She  turned  away,  at  length,  and,  from  among 
the  other  sleeping  drunkards,  soon  distinguished  the  person  of 
her  wretched  brother.  He  lay  almost  beneath  the  table,  his 
head  upon  his  crossed  arms  —  his  face  downward.  She  stooped 
to  him,  pushed  him,  turned  him  over,  whispered  in  his  ear.  She 
might  as  well  have  sought  for  intelligence,  and  human  conscious 
ness,  in  the  rock  !  She  strove  for  his  awakening  in  vain. 

There  was  a  motion  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  sleepers.  He 
turned  uneasily,  and  groaned  aloud.  Nelly  was  instantly  on 
her  feet,  and  preparing  to  gain  the  door.  But  the  sleeper  was 
cuiet  in  the  next  moment,  and  she  renewed  her  efforts  to  rouse 
•ip  her  insensible  brother.  But  with  no  better  effect  than  be 
fore,  Then  she  wrung  her  hands,  despairingly,  and  murmured 
a  prayer. 

We  have  a  privilege  which  those  around  do  not  enjoy,  of 
hearing  her  soliloquy. 

"  If  I  get  him  not  hence,  and  from  these  people,  he  can  not 
be  saved  !  I  see  the  danger  approaching.  And  he  will  not 
see  it !  Oh  !  Mat,  Mat !  that  you  will  not  hear  to  the  only  one 
that  loves  you  —  will  not  heed  the  only  one  that  prays  for  you. 
Will  rush  on,  with  these  bad  people  —  headlong  —  to  where  the 
doom  waits  for  you  —  more  and  more  near  every  day  !" 

As  if  stimulated  to  new  efforts  by  this  reflection,  the  girl  again 
strove  to  awaken  the  sleeper  —  again  pulled  his  arm  —  even  from 
oeneath  his  head  ;  but  the  head  fell  heavily  upon  the  floor,  and 
the  sleeper  snored  aloud,  as  if  declaring  his  resolute  purpose 
not  to  b ,  awakened.  And  she  failed  finally,  and  had  to  aban- 
lon  t.-ie  attempt  as  hopeless.  Yet,  to  her  horror  and  surprise, 
WCK  whilo  she  strove  for  his  awakening,  she  saw  the  head  of 
Hell-fire  Dick  suddenly  rise  up,  with  his  shoulders  from  the 
i'looi  Tbf»  eyes  were  wide  open.  They  glared  around  the 
.OOIL  They  were  met  by  those  of  Nelly  ;  and,  as  if  bound  by 
t  spoil,  s!i?  could  not  turn  her  glance  away  from  the  painful 
tjiaio  of  Oiose  sleep-glazed  eyes  of  the  ruffian,  which  seemed 
liit  of  a  fiozsn  life  —  a  blank  meaningless  gaze  —  full  of  a  dazing 
rJ;vr  slty,  r.ut  :*c  aim.  She  was  crouching  over  Mat  Floyd,  with 
,  b.ana  upon  his  shoulder  when  first  alarmed  by  the  lifting  of 
•".  lif'.fH  of  Di'-k  of  Tophet  .  and  she  maintained  this  position 


HOW    BUNYAN    SAVES    HELL-FIRE   DICK.  263 

11  capable  to  move,  while  the  gaze  of  his  eyes  was  upon  her. 
At  length,  the  head  of  the  ruffian  sank  back  upon  the  floor; 
and  a  few  h  varse,  broken  syllables  escaped  his  lips.  He  had 
e  ^idently  not  ceased  to  sleep  a  moment,  during  all  his  staring. 
FA  3  was  dreaming  all  the  while. 

>[elly  Floyd  rose  —  now  thoroughly  conscious  that,  in  his 
present  condition,  there  was  no  hope  to  arouse  her  brother. 
She  went  to  the  fireplace,  threw  another  brand  of  lightwood 
upon  the  blaze,  and  then,  with  more  deliberation  than  before, 
surveyed  the  features  of  Dick  of  Tophet. 

"  Somehow,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  fear  this  man !  I  never 
felt  fear  of  any  person  before  ;  but  this  man  I  fear  !  The  voice 
tells  me,  *  Avoid  him  —  beware  of  him!'  Oh!  if  I  could  only 
get  poor  Mat  away,  would  I  not  do  so?  How  horrid  he  looks.'' 

And  she  loathed  and  trembled  even  as  she  gazed,  and  with 
feelings  and  thoughts  of  an  indefinite  terror  that  kept  her  shud 
dering  to  the  soul  all  the  while  she  remained  thus  spelled  by 
the  fearful  fascination. 

She  starts,  even  while  she  looks  and  muses.  Her  keen  ears 
have  caught  approaching  sounds.  She  hastily  steps  to  the  fire 
place,  smothers  the  lighted  brand  in  the  ashes,  and  all  is  again 
in  darkness.  She  glides,  then,  needfully  among  the  .sleepers ; 
gains  the  door,  and  listens ;  steps  out  rapidly  ;  and,  slipping  off 
among  the  bushes,  is  soon  hidden  out  of  sight.  She  now  hears 
distinctly  the  voice  of  one  approaching  the  door  of  the  hovel. 
It  was  Griffith  himself,  who  limped  with  a  crutch  [A  large 
proportion  of  the  tavern-keepers  in  that  day  and  region-  were 
lame  people.  Their  crippled  condition  gave  them  a  degree  of 
immunity  from  both  parties,  which  able-bodied  persons  could 
not  well  have  obtained.] 

"  I  sartinly  seed  a  light !"  said  Griffith  — "  They  wants  more 
liquor." 

And  he  pushed  open  the  door.  All  was  darkness.  All  still 
slept ;  and,  after  kindling  the  blaze  afresh,  and  looking  around 
him,  Griffith  satisfied  himself  that  no  more  liquor  was  neces 
sary,  and  that  the  light  which  he  had  seen  was  that  of  some 
brand,  which  had  been  thrown  upon  the  fire  before,  but  had 
kindled  very  slowly,  and  only  after  the  runagates  were  asleep 

"A  pretty  crew,  I  hey,"   said  Griffith  —  "but  they  pays!" 


2G4  EUTAW. 

The  philosophy,  in  h  -ief,  which  reconciles  the  whole  world    a 
rascality ! 

And,  satisfied  with  i^is  scrutiny,  he  pulled  to,  and  latched  tha 
door,  and  hohbled  off  t«  his  own  slumbers.  Poor  Nelly  prowled 
about  till  morning  —  SD  itching  a  brief  sleep  under  a  tree  in  o 
close  thicket,  where  Aggy  busily  browsed  about  for  her  supper. 
Poor  Nelly  !  she  had  again'left  a  home  of  luxury,  for  the  cheer 
less  life  of  the  forests.  B'ow  she  procured  food  is  something  of 
a  problem.  But  she  cot  trived  to  do  it.  She  would  enter  a 
house  arid  say,  "  I  am  hungry  —  will  you  give  me  some  bread  *'•' 
And  when  the  inmates  1  >oked  in  her  face,  they  gave  it.  At 
other  times,  she  had  bisoi  its  in  her  pocket,  of  corn-flour ;  and, 
sometimes,  she  had  a  littl-j  mealed  grain  and  sugar.  She  had 
gathered  up  some  of  the  lessons  and  resources  of  forest  life  from 
her  intercourse  with  J?.f  Rhodes  and  his  party. 

Drunk  as  he  had  bee  i,  during  the  night,  the  military  habits 
of  Dick  of  Tophet  were  inflexible ;  and,  with  the  first  peep  of 
day,  he  was  stirring  himself,  and  rousing  up  the  stupid  wretches 
around  him.  They  had  an  early  breakfast  of  hominy  and  rac 
coon  meat,  with  rum  a«''  water  in  place  of  coffee.  The  break 
fast  discussed,  the  part?  was  soon  in  saddle,  and  on  the  road  — 
nay,  not  -the  road  eatacdy,  but  along  a  Hind  trail  through  the 
forests.  They  little  dreamed,  any  of  them,  that  Nelly  Floyd 
was  following,  at  a  convenient  distance,  along  the  same  route. 

But  Dick  of  Tophet  did  not  lead  his  recruits  to  the  secret  re 
cesses  of  Muddicoat  Castle.  He  stopped  short  of  this  point,  and 
madeiiis  bivouack  about  a  mile  distant,  on  a  bit  of  high  ground 
on  which  stood  an  old  Doghouse  —  where,  in  fact,  Inglehardt 
had  previously  encampo  •  his  company,  while  he  visited  the 
swamp  fastnesses  alone.  When  Dick  had  safely  planted  his 
cohort,  and  laid  down  his  decrees  with  sufficient  emphasis  and 
distinctness  to  his  lieutenant,  he  disappeared  from  the  party, 
taking  a  circuitous  course,  and  finally,  worming  his  way  to  the 
dark  avenues  of  the  swamp.  He  was  safe  against  his  own  fol 
lowers,  and  never  suspected  the  strange  scout  that  haunted  all 
his  footsteps  with  the  lightness  of  the  deer,  and  the  stealthiness 
of  the  serpent.  Nelly  Floyd  was  on  the  route  to  new  mys 
teries. 

That  night  she  was  back  ng«.  :u  to  the  camping-ground  where 


£OW    EUNYAN   SAVES    QELL-FIRE   DICK.  266 

•  er  brother  was  stationed.  At  midnight  lie  was  wakened  up 
to  keep  watch ;  and,  watching  him,  she  stole  upon  him  when 
she  supposed  all  the  rest  to  be  well  asleep,  and  was  beside  the 
drowsy  sentinel,  without  his  suspecting  any  human  proximity. 
Her  murmured  accents  first  apprized  him  of  her  presence,  as 
she  said,  "  Mat,  my  brother,  it  is  Nelly,  your  own  sister  Nelly." 
But,  so  surprised  was  he,  that  he  started,  leaped,  and  seemed 
about  to  run.  He  was  armed  with  knife  and  pistols  only, 
Fortunately,  these  were  in  belt  or  bosom.  Had  there  been  a 
weapon  in  his  hand,  such  was  his  agitation,  at  the  first,  that  he 
would  most  probably  have  tried  to  use  it. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Mat  — it's  Nelly  !" 

"  Afeard  !   who's  afeard  ?     What  do  you  want,  Nelly  ?" 

"  I  want  you,  Mat !  I  have  come  in  pursuit  of  you.  I  wish 
to  carry  you  off  from  these  wretched  people.  £)h  !  Mat,  will 
you  not  take  warning  in  season,  from  the  fate  of  Jeff  Rhodes, 
and  Nat,  and  the  rest?" 

"  What's  become  of  Jeff?" 

"  Hung  !" 

"Hung!"  and  the  fellow  shivered  with  the  most  unpleasant 
associations. 

"  Hung  by  the  British,  and  Nat  had  his  brains  dashed  out 
against  a  tree !" 

"  He  always  was  a  half-blind  fellow,  and  couldn't  manage  a 
horse  easy  in  the  woods." 

"  You  sec,  Mat,  one  after  the  other  perishes  in  blood  and 
shame  !  Rhodes  was  a  monster',  and  you  have  taken  service 
with  another  monster  like  him.  He  will  lead  you  to  Rhodes's 
fate,  as  sure  as  day  and  night  come  together." 

"Look  you,  Nelly;  don't  be  talking  any  more  of  my  hang 
ing.  I  tell  you,  so  long  as  I  kin  carry  a  knife,  and  hev  the 
strength  to  use  it,  no  rope  shall  siffocate  me." 

"  Hear  me,  Mat :  Jeff  Rhodes  made  the  same  boast ;  yes, 
even  when  he  lay  wounded  on  the  sward  ;  and  the  enemy  heard 
him,  and  hung  him  in  all  his  wounds,  and  he  died  in  the  rope.'' 

How  did  Nelly  Floyd  pick  up  this  anecdote? 

The  curious  feature  of  the  fact,  struck  the  dull  faculties  of 
Mat  Floyd  painfully ;  but  lie  was  of  a  stiff-necked  generation 
slid  lib  heart  was  hardened  against  his  sister.  The  Fates  were 

12 


EUTAW. 

resolute  ou  not  losing  their  victim,  and  no  one  is  more  surely 
such  than  the  man  whose  self-esteem  makes  himself  the  blind 
instrument  of  their  designs.     Mat  Floyd  had  a  shaae  of  philos 
ophy  in  his  answer,  based  upon  the  doctrines  of  probabilities 
which  he'  delivered  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  shock. 

"  Well,  'tain't  reasonable  that  two  men  of  the  same  party  is 
guine  to  suffer  jest  in  tho  same  way.  The  truth  is,  Nelly 
you've  been  a  dreaming  at  me,  with  that  gallows  wision  of 
your'n,  till  I'm  almost  sick  of  seein'  and  hearin'  you !  Yon 
wants  me  to  go  off  with  you,  and  git  a  hoeing  the  tater  patc^ 
of  Mother  Ford ;  and  what  ef  the  sodgers,  one  side  or  t'other, 
sees  me  at  that?  Will  they  let  me  stay  at  it?  No!  Won' 
they  take  away  my  hoss  and  all  I've  got,  and  been  a-gitting?" 

"Where's  what  you've  got,  and  been  a  getting,  Mat?  In 
these  rags  ?"  ^demanded  the  girl  abruptly  and  sternly. 

"  Ha  !  Nelly,"  answered  the  other  with  a  chuckle,  "  rags  is  a 
disguising  and  a  sarcumvention.  Rags  hides  more  than  they 
shows.  Look  a'  that,  gal  —  gould  all,  and  silver  a  few,"  and  he 
drew  up  from  amidst  his  rags,  a  handful  of  gold  and  silver  pieces 
—  no  great  deal,  perhaps,  but  something  unusual  with  him,  and 
with  persons  in  his  condition.  But  Mat  was  beginning  to  be  an 
accumulator.  He  had  emptied  the  pockets  of  Barney  Gibbes, 
who  died  in  the  swamp ;  and  his  skill  as  a  gambler,  aided  by  a 
temporary  run  of  luck,  had  enabled  him  to  make  the  present 
exhibition. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  Nelly,  of  leaving  a  business  which  brings 
sich  good  pay,  to  go  hoeing  Mother  Ford's  turnips  and  taters ! 
I'd  be  jest  as  crazy  as  you'self,  Nelly,  ef  I  was  to  do  so." 

The  girl  recoiled  from  him,  with  a  sort  of  horror,  at  this  rude 
speech.  She  said  sadly  : — 

"  My  craziness,  Mat,  does  not  prevent  my  loving  you,  and 
feeling  for  you,  and  thinking  of  your  danger,  night  after  night, 
when  you  are  drinking  and  sleeping,  and  not  thinking  or  caring 
for  yourself." 

And  she  told  him  of  her  efforts  to  rouse  him  up  from  his  sleep 
and  stupor  the  night  before,  in  the  hovel  of  Griffith.  Shj 
described  vividly  the  Avretched  spectacle  which  she  witnessed. 

"  Suppose,"  she  added,  "  that,  instead  of  me,  it  had  been  an 
enemy  who  found  you  in  that  condition,  when  you  could  neither 


HOW   BUNYAN   SAVES    HELL-FIRE   DICK.  267 

ft  an  arm,  nor  open  an  eye,  hoAr  would  your  knife,  then, 
cave  saved  you  from  the  gallows  ?" 

The  fellow  was  a  little  confounded  with  the  story ;  but  he  war 
fas,  Ijsirg  a'i  sense  of  shame ;  and  he  answered  brutally  :- — 

"  D — n  the  gallows  !  Ef  you're  afraid  of  it,  I  ain't.  on't 
bother  me  any  more  about  it.  Ef  I'm  to  hang,  I  1'aint  Jrown. 
That's  enough.  Git  off  now,  'fore  the  fellows  wake  up  and 
find  you  hyar.  It's  no  use  to  argyfy.  You're  a  gal  —  a  woman 
—  and  don't  understand  the  business  cf  men-folk.  We  musf 
hev  money,  Nelly.  Thar's  no  getting  on  without  it,  and  so 
long  as  I  kin  git  it,  in  this  business,  jest  so  long  I  must  take  the 
risk  of  the  siffication.  Thar  you  hev  it !  Hurrah  for  the  gal 
lows  !  Who's  afeard  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mat !  This  is  awful !  My  poor,  poor  brother,  do  you 
hurrah  for  shame,  and  infamy,  and  death  !  Oh  !  beware,  lest' 
Qod.  takes  you  at  your  word,  and  sends  them  all !  Oh,  brother  ! 
do  not  suppose  me  foolish  —  crazy  —  as  you  call  it!  I  am  not 
crazy  !  I  have  a  fearful  gift  of  vision  which  enables  me  to 
sec  what  is  to  happen.  And  I  tell  you,  dear  Mat,  my  poor 
misguided  brother,  that  you  are  destined  to  the  horrid  death  I 
have  painted  to  you,  unless  you  fly  with  me.  You  are  doomed  !" 

"Well,  ef  I'm  doomed  —  sartain  —  what's  the  use  of  your 
argyfying?  What's  the  use  of  my  trying  at  all?  Even  ef  I 
was  to  give  up  business  hyar,  and  to  turn  to  hoeing  taters  and 
'.urnips  for  Mother  Ford,  'twouldn't  do  no  good.  The  rope,  you 
»ay —  the  gallows  —  must  have  the  pusson  !  That's  the  how, 


"  Oh,  no  !  not  so  !  The  precipice  is  before  you,  but  you  can 
turn  away  from  it.  The  danger  threatens  you,  but  you  can  avoid 

—  avert  it !     God  warns  and  threatens ;  but  repentance  saves. 
He  does  not  v/ilKr.gly  destroy  !     He  only  cuts  off  the  offender 
who  will  not  rerert.     B/cfcher,  brother:,  you  may  still  be  saved 

—  only  resolve  Li  season.     Go  with  me.     Leave  the  camp  now 

—  now  —  while  all      e  sleeping." 

'  Why,  that's  iijsartion  !  That's  a  hanging  matter,  right  off, 
soon  as  they  jatch  rre,  I've  got  the  king's  picter,  in  gould,  in 
my  pocket,  and  that  swears  me  to  be  true  man.  Ef  I  decarts, 
7'ro  Inuig,  sure  as  a  ^un,  soon  as  they  lays  hands  on  me  And 


2(58  ECTTAW 


they'd  like  no  better  fun  for,  you  see,  they  gits  my  toss  and  a1 
my  vallyables." 

11  And  who  is  this  fearful-looking  man  to  whom  you  liave  so^ 
yourself  for  money?      The  very  sight  of  him   fills   me    tfitb 
terror!" 

"  And  he's  jist  the  mac  to  make  most  folks  feel  skeary, 
Why,  that's  Hell-fire  Dick!" 

"  Oh,  Mat !  and  is  it  possible  that  you  are  in  the  hands  of 
that  monster  ?" 

"  Well  he  don't  hear  you !  But  he's  only  the  recruiting  sar- 
ger.t.  The  cappin's  name's  Inglehardt." 

"  Ah  !  I've  heard  of  him.  He's  a  bad  man  too.  Mat,  Mat, 
leave  these  wretches !  Go  with  me !  I  will  work  for  you. 
You  shall  never  want.  If  we  can't  get  money,  we  can  get 
safety.  We  can  get  bread,  and  clothing,  and  shelter,  and 
peace,  peace,  Mat  —  and  what  more  do  we  need?  What  more 
can  money  buy  ?" 

"  Fiddlestick !  I  want  a  great  many  things  more !  And 
you  work  !  You  promise  mightily ;  but  I  knows  you.  Jest  in 
the  midst  of  work  you'd  hev  your  wisions,  and  then  start  off, 
crazy  as  a  mad-  cat,  nobody  knows  whar !  You're  too  full  of 
notions,  Nelly ;  and  I  ain't  the  man  to  be  depending  on  a  crazy 
gal  like  you.  I  don't  feel  like  weeding  taters  and  hoeing  tur 
nips.  I'd  rather,  a  deuced  sight,  fight  than  dig ;  though  I  has 
to  fight  onder  the  very  gallows !" 

It  is  enough  that  Nelly  Floyd  labored  at  her  mission  until  it 
became  time  to  change  the  watch,  then  she  disappeared ;  but 
only  out  of  sight ;  she  still  lingered  about  the  precinct ;  hooef.il 
of  a  more  auspicious  season.  We  leave  her  for  awhile,  guarded 
by  innocent  thoughts  only,  in  deeper  thickets  of  the  forest ! 

But  we  leave  her  only  to  turn  to  a  less  grateful  portrait.  We 
must  follow  Dick  of  Tophet  to  his  den,  and  its  murky  asso 
ciates.  He  appeared  among  them  as  usual,  perhaps  a  shade 
more  surly.  He  had  a  private  talk  with  Branson  before  join 
ing  the  rest;  in  which  he  heor3.  the  home  news,  and  uttered 
himself  freely  : — 

"  Thar's  all  sort  of  rumors,  Rafe !  u  nffith  says  that  the 
-cbels  hev  most  sartinly  gone  dr —n  to  take  the  city  !  And  ho 
says,  that  thar's  a  rumor  that  I  :•  ;>  Rawdon  has  gone  down  *,o 


HOW    BUNYAN   SAVES    HELL-FIRE    DICK. 

•lefcjid  it      The  rebels  are  sartinly  a-breezing  up,  and 
stronger.     Thar's  a  power  of  'em  a-horseback  now,  so  that  our 
red-coat  dragoons  stand  no  chalnce.     All  Marion's  and  Sumtev' 
fellows  are  a-horseback.     I  reckon  we'll  hyar  all  from  Cappin 
Inglehardt,  when  he  comes  in  to-morrow." 

"  Is  he  coming  in  to-morrow  ?" 

"  He  said  so.  But  who  knows  1  Thar's  so  many  troops  about, 
that  one  kaint  be  sure  of  his  breakfast  without  a  skairmish." 

After  their  chat  they  went  in  to  supper,  and  after  supper  to 
cards,  and  along  with  cards,  Jamaica !  They  sat  up  very  late 
at  their  revels;  and,  as  one  debauch  only  paves  the  way  for 
another,  Dick  of  Tophet  drank  almost  as  freely  as  on  the 
previous  night,  and  lost  all  his  money  besides.  He  rose  from 
play,  when  this  result  was  reached,  and  staggered  about  with 
curses  in  his  mouth  —  to  steady  his  movements  we  suppose  — 
until  he  had  found  the  place  where  he  had  shelved  his  antique 
copy  of  Bunyan.  Having  stuck  this  into  his  pocket,  he  strode 
and  staggered  off  to  Pete  Blodgit's,  where  he  aroused  that 
amiable  keeper,  with  his  rheumatic  mother,  from  the  pleasantest 
of  naps.  Pete  gave  him  entrance ;  and  he  made  his  way  at 
once  into  the  dungeon  of  Henry  Travis. 

"  Make  up  a  light  hyar,  Pete  !"  commanded  the  ruffian,  with 
out  looking  to  Henry.  The  blaze  was  soon  kindled,  and  Dick 
discovered  the  boy,  with  his  eyes  open,  but  still  stretched  at 
length  upon  his  straw. 

"  Git  up,  little  fellow,"  said  he,  "  and  let's  git  a  little  more 
book-l'arning.  Them  harrystocrats  shain't  hev  it  all,  by  the 
hokics  !  Git  up,  my  little  hop-o'-my-thumb,  cocksparrow,  and 
let's  hear  you  read  out  the  Taming.  The  1'arning's  the  thing, 
Lawd,  boy,  ef  I  only  had  that,  how  I'd  regilate  the  country. 
I'd  be  king  of  the  cavalries!" 

"  I  can't  read  to-night,"  said  Henry  ;  ••  it's  too  late.  I'm  toe  . 
sleepy." 

"Sleepy!  you  ycung  wolf,  and  harry stocrat,  ripiobate  and 
sarpent !  Sleepy !  Ef  I  take  a  stick  to  your  weepers,  '.' 
reckon  I'll  work  tie  sleep  out  of  'em  for  the  next  gineration  i 
Git  up,  before  I  put  a  spur  into  your  musquito  ribs,  you  little 
conceit  of  an  argyment,  and  stop  your  singing  for  ever  a:~d  the 
third  day  a'ter." 


2^0  EUTAW. 

Poo*'  Henry  felt  greatly  like  bidding  the  ruffian  defiance , 
but  that  grave  counsellor,  Prudence,  just  then  interposed,  and 
taught  him  better.  He  was  not  so  sleepy,  indeed,  as  sour; 
was  weary,  vexed,  impatient,  unhappy,  and  his  ill-humor  was 
threatening  to  impair  his  security.  But  tho  saving  policy 
came  in  season.  He  got  up  quietly,  took  his  seat  upon  the 
bench,  received  the  book  from  the  hands  of  its  owner,  who, 
quietly  stretched  himself  out  upon  the  straw,  and  prepared  to 
listen. 

By  this  time,  Henry  discovered  that  Andrews  was  very  drunk, 
and  could  scarcely  appreciate  a  sentence ;  but  he  commenced 
reading,  and  continued  to  read  aloud  for  awhile,  though  not 
without  frequent  querulous  and  very  stupid  interruptions  from 
his  maudlin  hearer.  But  the  boy  read  on  patiently,  satisfied 
in  some  degree,  to  read  for  himself.  The  charming  fiction  of 
Bunyan  was  gradually  appealing  to  the  imagination  of  the  boy 
winning  its  way  to  his  heart,  and  engaging  all  his  sympathies 
in  behalf  of  poor  Pilgrim.  At  length,  all  show  of  attention,  on 
the  part  of  Dick  of  Tophet  relaxed  —  his  head  finally  settled 
down  upon  the  straw,  and  Henry  Travis  was  only  apprized  of  his 
utter  insensibility,  by  a  loud  snore,  which  would  have  done  honor 
to  the  nostrils  of  a  buffalo,  from  those  of  the  auditor.  The  boy 
only  gave  him  a  look  of  loathing  and  disgust,  and  resumed  his 
reading ;  though  now  not  aloud.  *  He  was  engaged  in  a  portion 
of  the  narrative  where  it  was  most  dramatic  and  most  exciting ; 
and,  in  his  progress,  he  almost  forgot  that  his  custodian  lay  at 
his  feet. 

Suddenly,  the  boy  closed  the  book,  and  looked  about  him. 
The  stillness  of  everything  around  had  startled  him  into  a 
oudden  consciousness,  and  was  suggestive  of  a  new  thought  to 
his  mind.  Why  should  he  not  fly?  —  possess  himself  of  thf 
Key,  which  he  knew  to  be  in  the  pocket  of  the  sleeping  man 
and  take  advantage  of  his  obliviousness  to  escape  1 

No  sooner  did  he  think  thus,  than  he  prepared  to  act  upoi 
liui  suggestion.  He  stooped  cautiously  beside  the  sleeper,  and 
felt  in  one  of  his  pockets,  but  brought  up  nothing  but  a  piece 
of  tobacco,  a  handful  of  bullets  in  a  leather  bag,  and  a  plough- 
line.  The  other  pocket  contained  the  key,  and  Dick  lay  upon 
that  side.  The  boy  felt  cautiously  all  around  him,  but  the 


HOW    BUNYAN   SAVES    HELL-FIRE   DICK.  271 

pocket  was  completely  covered  by  the  huge  carcass  of  the 
sleeper.  To  turn  him  over  was  scarcely  possible,  unless  at  the 
peril  of  awakening  him ;  but,  just  then,  Henry  discovered  the 
buck-handled  hilt  of  a  couteau  dc  cliassc  protruding  from  the 
bosom  of  the  sleeper. 

Here  was  the  key  to  the  key !  Here  was  emancipation  from 
his  bonds  —  escape  —  flight  —  the  rescue  of  his  father,  and  ven- 
£ennce  upon  the  head  of  their  petty  tyrant!  The  thought 
swept  through  the  brain  of  the  boy  with  lightning  rapidity. 
His  eyes  gleamed  ;  his  whole  frame  trembled  with  the  eager 
inspiration.  He  clutched  the  weapon,  and  drew  it  from  the 
bosom  of  the  sleeper,  leaving  the  leathern  sheath  still  in  the 
folds  of  his  garments.  He  was  now  armed,  and  a  single  blow 
would  suffice,  struck  manfully,  and  in  the  right  place ! 

And  the  heart  of  the  boy  was  strong  within  him.  We  have 
seen  that  he  does  not  shrink  from  strife  —  does  not  tremble  at 
the  sight  of  blood  —  has  no  fear  of  death,  when  his  passions  are 
excited  for  victory  !  And  there  is  his  enemy,  the  brutal  enemy 
who  has  not  spared  his  blows,  has  threatened  him  with  stripes, 
starves  him,  and  keeps  him  from  liberty  !  He  has  but  to  slay 
liim,  possess  himself  of  the  key,  and  fly  !  All  is  very  still  around 
him ;  and  the  wretch  beneath  his  arm  has  no  claim  for  mercy 
upon  him.  What  need  for  scruple  ? 

Such  were  the  obvious  suggestions.  But  they  were  not 
enough,  though  all  true  —  not  enough  to  satisfy  the  more  exact 
ing  requisitions  of  that  young  humanity  which  the  world's  strife 
may  have  irritated,  but  .not  yet  rendered  callous.  The  struggle 
between  his  sense  of  provocation,  the  objects  he  had  to  gain  by 
the  act,  and  his  nicer  sensibilities,  was  a  painful  and  protracted 
one.  But  the  nobler  nature  triumphed.  Henry  Travis  could 
•not  strike  the  defenceless  man,  though  his  enemy  —  could  not 
stab  the  sleeping  man,  however  a  monster  ! 

He  drew  back  from  the  ruffian  —  averted  his  eyes,  lest  the 
temptation  should  be  too  strong  for  him  ;  and,  resolutely  seating 
himself,  as  to  a  task,  he  took  up  old  Bunyan,  and  resumed  his 
reading.  But,  ever  and  anon,  he  felt  how  wearisome  now  were 
its  pages ;  the  fiery,  passionate  thoughts  still  recurring  to  him 
with  their  suggestions  of  escape,  arid  the  excitement  in  his  mind 
being  infinitely  superior,  in  the  circumstances  in  which  he  stood, 


272  EUTAW. 

to  any  of  the  wild  moral  conflicts,  as  they  occurred  to  the  prog 
ress  of  Poor  Pilgrim.  But  Henry  persevered  in  his  determina 
tion  to  do  no  murder,  for  such  he  persuaded  himself  would  be 
the  stabbing  of  the  sleeping  and  defenceless  man.  He  buckled 
to  old  Bunyan  bravely;  and,  at  length,  following  the  allegory, 
he  contrived  to  subdue  his  own  bosom  to  a  partial  calm,  after 
the  warm  conflict  with  his  goading  passions,  through  which  he 
had  gone.  It  was  a  real  and  great  triumph  for  the  boy,  that 
he  had  forborne  so  well;  for  he  had  already  enjoyed  that  first 
taste  of  blood  and  strife  which  is  so  apt  to  impair  for  ever  the 
rnild  virtues  of  that  sweet  milk  of  humanity  which  suffers  no 
infusion  of  the  bitter  waters  of  evil  without  instantly  undergoing 
taint  and  corruption. 

And  the  boy  read  on  for  several  hours.  His  torches  for  light 
were  abundant,  and  he  kept  them  alive  by  fresh  brands  when 
ever  they  grew  dim.  He  no  longer  felt  the  need  of  sleep.  He 
had  slept  till  midnight,  when  he  had  been  roused  by  his  visiter ; 
and  the  disturbance  which  the  visit  and  the  subsequent  event 
had  excited  in  his  mind  drove  sleep  effectually  from  his  eyes. 
Meanwhile,  Bunyan  was  gradually  making  him  forgetful  of  Dick 
of  Tophet,  and  an  occasional  snore  only  reminded  him  of  the 
presence  of  that  personage.  On  such  occasions,  Henry  would 
involuntarily  grasp  the  hunting-knife  of  the  ruffian  which  he  still 
held,  with  the  book,  in  a  fast  clutch ;  and,  contenting  himself 
with  a  single  glance  at  the  desperado,  would  resume  his  reading. 

At  length,  the  sleeper  awakened — uneasily,  and  with  a  long 
growl  —  a  sort  of  mixed  groan  and  cry  —  which  drew  upon  him 
the  sharp  eye  of  the  captive. 

The  ruffian  was  awake,  and  somewhat  sobered. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  as  if  he  had  been  listening  all  the  while, 
"  that's  very  good  sort  of  1'arning,  and  full  of  sarcumventions,  I 
kin  see  ;  but  they  won't  do  for  war-time  in  this  country.  None 
of  them  fellows  knows  how  to  fight  sinsibly.  They  kin  do  it, 
up  and  down,  mighty  well,  but  they  don't  know  nothing  of 
scouting.  Why,  Rafe  Brunson,  our  Trailer,  could  run  a  ring 
through  the  nose  of  any  of  'em,  and  muzzle  'em  up,  so  that  they 
could  never  show  their  teeth  at  all,  'cepting  to  grin.  They 
couldn't  bite !  They  couldn't  even  bark,  I  reckon,  ef  he  had 
once  snaked  about  'em  for  a  7iiu!it." 


HOW    BUKYAN   SAVES   BE1    -     >i       .  V:\  2ft  i 

For  a  moment,  Henry  was  silent.  T^en  ~a  ».  «;  s--  >  5 :.,";'  ^.:j 
book  down  on  the  bench,  and  displayed  the  couteau  tk,  c&a.  -•;  V 
the  eyes  of  the  savage. 

•'*  Do  you  see  that  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  How  !     Yes,  I  see  !     It's  a  knife  —  it's  my  knife !" 

And  this  was  said  with  a  sort  of  howl,  as,  searching  his  •*»  ., 
bosom,  he  drew  forth  the  scabbard,  and  satisfied  himself  that  uu 
blade  was  wanting. 

"  Take  it,"  said  the  boy,  throwing  it  to  his  feet.  "  Take  it ! 
1  had  you  at  my  mercy  !  You  slept !  It  needed  but  one  blow 
to  make  you  sleep  the  sleep  of  death  !  With  that  one  blow,  I 
could  have  obtained  iny  freedom  —  perhaps  rny  father's;  and  I 
had  no  reason  to  spare  you !  I  stood  over  you,  prepared  to 
strike.  But  I  could  not !  Yrou  were  sleeping ;  you  could  make 
no  defence  !  It  would  have  been  murder  !  I  spared  you.  Take 
your  knife,  and  leave  me.  Do  not  tempt  me  so  again  ;  I  couldn't 
stand  it  a  second  time  !" 

The.  ruffian  regarded  the  youthful  speaker  with  something 
like  consternation  in  his  countenance.  He  stooped  slowly,  and 
repossessed  himself  of  the  knife.  Then,  after  another  moment's 
pause,  he  exclaimed  : — 

"Gimini!  and  you  hed  me  sure — hed  me  dead,  I  may  say, 
thar  ;  and  you  hed  the  knife ;  and  'twas  jest  only  a  single  stick  ! 
And  you  didn't  do  it !  you  didn't  do  it !  —  The  more  fool  you  !" 

"  Perhaps  so  !  But  that  remains  to  be  seen.  It  seemed  as 
if  a  voice  within  said  to  me,  '  Do  not  strike  the  sleeping  man — 
that  would  be  base.'  And  then  another  voice  said  without,  in 
my  ears :  '  Do  not  slay  him  yet.  I  have  uses  for  him.  K? 
must  throw  off  his  bundle  first  !  He  is  a  great  sinrer !'  " 

"  Eh  ?  what !     You  heard  that  /" 

"  Yes  !  in  my  very  ears  T  heard  it !" 

"  It's  a  most  etarnal  t?  .th  !  It's  a  most  monstratious  bundle 
ou  my  back,  and  thar'p  to  throwing  it  off.  It  sticks  like  pitch  and 
fire.  It's  no  use — .-.^  use  !  And  so,  boy,  you  hed  me  at  yoiii 
inarcy;  and  didn't  stick  when  you  hed  the  knife  and  the  chainco  ? 
Mo.*s  fool  you  !  more  fool  you  !  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  The  devil  always 
Lelp,s  his  own.  Why,  boy,  'twas  his  voice  that  made  that  whh 
periiig  in  your  ears,  jest  to  save  me,  when  I  couldn't  save  ray 
s'  If  !  Twag  him  that  told  you  true  :  he.  hed  mo: a  uses  for  me 


EUTAW. 

do  wit1  out  me,  in  fact !  'Twan't  no  angel  that  wins 
pcMd  wat  !  Ef  it  had  a-bccn,  lie'd  lia'  said:  'Stick  quick, 
sti-.k  deep,  and  never  be  done  sticking,  tell  the  breath  stops  — 
tc-/!  the  life's  clean  gone  out  of  him!'  Ho!  ho!  ho! — to 
think,  now,  that  you  could  ha'  been  so  easy  tricked  by  the  ola 
'mi ! ' 

"  I  am  not  sorry  that  it  is  so.  I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
your  blood  upon  my  hands,  though  you  have  been  so  bad  ar* 
enemy  of  mine  and  my  father." 

"  Don't  you  talk  of  your  father,  now,  and  all  will  be  right 
and  sinsible.  Look  at  this  bloody  hole  that  he  worked  in  rny 
ear  with  his  bullet ;  and  the  wound  is  green  yit !  Does  you 
think  I'm  guine  to  forgive  him  for  that  ?" 

"  That  was  in  fair  fight.     You  attacked  him  first." 

"Well,  so  'twas;  and  I  reckon  it's  the  conditions  of  the  war. 
And  so  you  —  you  little  hop-o'-my-thumb — you  hed  me  at  yoMr 
marcy  !  And  your  heart  growed  tender.  'Twas  the  book- 
1'arning,  boy,  that  made  you  so  soft-hearted.  'Twas  that  same 
book  that  whispered  to  you,  and  made  you  stop  when  you  was 
about  to  stick  !  Give  me  the  book.  I  never  thought  book  of 
Gus  Avinger  would  ever  ha'  saved  my  life.  Well,  you  see,  'tis  a 
good  book,  boy ;  but,  look  you,  as  I'm  apt  to  take  a  leetle  too 
much  rum  over  night,  and  you  mayn't  always  be  hearing  to  a 
sinsible  whisper  from  the  old  'un,  we  won't  hev  any  more  read 
ings  a'ter  book-1'arning." 

"  But  you'll  leave  me  the  book?  —  I  want  to  finish  it." 

"  No  !  no !  'twas  a  gift,  you  see,  of  that  old  woman  ;  and  she 
had  no  reason  for  loving  me,  I  tell  you; — retlier,  she  had  the 
most  reason,  and  good  occasion,  for  hating  me  above  all  the 
bnd  men  in  this  big  world ;  yit  it's  her  giving  that's  saved  my 
life.  She's  gin  it  to  me  with  a  blessing  upon  it,  and  I'll  carry 
I;  close  in  my  buzzom,  'long-side  o'  my  knife.  It'll  keep  off  a 
•villct  maybe,  ef  it  does  no  better." 

As  he  was  about  to  go  Henry  suddenly  cried  out  to  him  : — 

"  Oh,  do  not  ill-treat  my  father !" 

"Well,  why  don't  you  ax  for  yourself?  You  won't,  ^h  ? 
You're  one  of  them  proud  harrystocrats  a'ter  all.  WeH,  I'H 
•.onsiderate  you.  I  owes  you  a  debt,  I  ecknowledges  ;  but  you 
was  bloody  foolish,  when  you  hed  the  chaince,  and  the  knife 


HOW   BUNT  AN   SATrS    9  ELL-FIRE   DICK.  il  ty 

that  you  didn't  stick  —  stick  deep,  and  sure,  tell  there  was  nc 
kiekm'  left  in  the  carkiss." 

And  with  these  words,  though  graver  thoughts  were  behind 
them,  Dick  of  Tophet  emerged  abruptly  from  the  den,  safely 
locking  the  door  after  him;  and,  in  a  fcAV  minutes,  was  heard 
leaving  the  house.  A  momentary  feeling  of  self-reproach,  as 
he  heard  the  receding  footsteps,  troubled  the  heart  of  the  boy  : — 

"  I  have  let  my  chance  escape  for  ever  !"  and  he  looked  round 
the  dismal  chamber  with  a  sigh.  Then  he  sank  upon  his  knees, 
and,  with  a  better  and  more  strengthening  feeling,  he  returned 
thanks  to  God  for  keeping  his  hands  clean  from  unnecessary 
bloodshed. 

Meanwhile,  Dick  of  Tophet  had  an  encounter,  as  he  turned 
round  the  cabin  of  Blodgit,  to  go  to  his  own ;  he  saw  a  figure, 
somewhat  like  that  of  a  woman,  flitting  into  the  thicket  just 
before  him, 

'  Ea  !  who's  that?"  he  cried  out;  and,  as  there  was  no  an 
swer,  he  pursued.  One  more  glimpse  of  the  receding  object- 
was  all  that  he  caught,  ere  it  disappeared  entirely  from  sight. 

"  It's  mighty  strange,"  quoth  he,  as  he  stopped  and  won 
dered.  "  'Twas  here,  jest  a  minute  ago,  and  now  it's  gone ; 
jest  as  ef  'twas  the  very  air  itself.  But  I  do  believe  it's  the 
rum  that's  a-working  yit  to  my  deception.  It's  hard  to  give  up 
Jimmaker — mighty  hard;  it's  a'most  my  only  comfort  in  these 
wars  and  skrimmages.  But,  when  it  upsets  a  man,  jest  as  ef 
he  was  a  baby,  and  puts  him  at  the  marcy  of  a  hop-o'-my- 
thumb,  that  ain't  yit  come  to  a  beard  ;  and  makes  him  see 
sh-ange  sights  of  women  in  the  air,  and  in  the  woods,  I  reckon, 
*.be  sooner  I  break  the  bottle,  and  let  out  the  liquor,  the  better 
for  my  etarnal  salvation  hyar  on  airth  !" 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

INGLEHARDT     DISCOVERS    THE    EVIL    CONSEQUENCES    0?    KEAI 

ING  "  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS"  AMONG  THE  SATANICS. 

THE  next  day,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  Captain  Inglehaid', 
arrived  with  bis  troop  at  the  place  of  encampment,  and  fonnl 
Dick  of  Tophet  honestly  busied  in  the  task  of  drilling  his  raw 
recruits  into  spme  knowledge  of  their  new  duties.  Tli3S3,  a, 
present,  involved  no  mystery  more  profound  than  that  of  obedi 
ence  to  discipline  —  the  word  of  a  master  —  the  docility  of  the 
man-machine.  The  recruits  were  all,  in  some  degree,  accus 
tomed  to  arms,  to  rough  services,  and  were  all  good  horsemen. 
To  bring  them  into  the  regular  harness  was  the  one  great 
essential,  and  Dick  of  Tophet,  however  deficient  in  other  vir 
tues,  was  a  good  drill-sergeant — something,  indeed,  of  a  mar 
tinet  when  on  duty.  He  was  minutely  exacting,  no  matter 
how  small  the  concern,  when  his  men  were  on  parade,  in  the 
case  of  the  very  individuals  with  whom  he  got  drunk  the  night 
before. 

Inglehardt  approved  of  the  recruits,  seven  or  eight  in  num 
ber.  His  corps  was  reduced,  and  greatly  needed  even  tr.!a 
small  increase.  It  brought  his  force  up  to  forty-four  men.  He 
ordered  his  commissariat  to  clothe  them,  as  nearly  in  uniform 
as  possible ;  and  this  worthy,  who  rode  with  a  great  pack  be 
hind  his  saddle  —  one  almost  as  large  as  that  which  Poor  Pil 
grim  was  compelled  to  carry  on  his  own  shoulders,  proceeded 
at  once  to  rig  out  his  new  customers.  Coats  and  breeches  wero 
ready  made  in  his  pack ;  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  they  had 
been  made  'o  do  service  in  the  professional  use  of  other  wearers. 
They  had  sa. vived  their  wearers  ;  and,  as  the  recruits  tried  on 


HOW   INGLEHARDT   MAKES   A    DISCOVERY.  2  i  i 

this  or  that  garment,  they  occasionally  happened  upon  a  hole 
in  the  hreast  or  body,  somewhere,  that  seemed  very  much  like 
that  which  a  musket-bullet  might  work,  under  the  moderate  us. 
pulsion  of  two  drachms  of  gunpowder.  Here  and  there,  too, 
the  sleeve  of  a  coat,  or  the  back,  exhibited  a  long  slit,  which  it 
was  no  strained  supposition  to  conjecture  might  have  been  the 
work  of  a  hasty  broadsword,  unnecessarily  sharpened  for  the 
mutilation  of  good  worsted.  And,  not  unfrequently,  dark  omi 
nous  stains,  disfigured  the  bright  green  of  the  material,  showing 
the  passage  of  a  thick  fluid,  which  the  most  simple  understand 
ing  readily  conceived  to  have  flowed  once  through  the  veins  of 
a  living  man. 

Our  raw  recruits  did  not  suffer  these  signs  to  escape  them ; 
but,  after  the  first  glance,  they  did  not  find  them  any  sufficient 
cause  of  objection  to  the  garment,  so  that  it  fitted  snugly.  They 
were  soon  equipped ;  and  a  few  suits  were  left  with  the  com 
missariat,  for  the  conversion  of  other  recruits  into  goodly 
mounted  men. 

Our  captain  find  his  worthy  sergeant  —  this  duty  done,  and 
the  corps  properly  transferred  to  the  lieutenant — retired  from 
the  observation  of  the  rest,  and  made  their  way  circuitously  to 
the  dusky  recesses  of  Muddicoat  Castle.  They  had  many  sub 
jects  to  discourse  about  by  the  way ;  and  each  unfolding  his 
discoveries,  to  the  degree  in  which  he  was  prepared  to  submit 
them  to  the  other,  a  great  deal  of  small  intelligence  was  pro 
cured  by  both,  which  it  was  important  that  both  should  know, 
in  respect  to  the  progress  of  the  war.  But  both  of  them  had 
reason  to  observe  the  caution  urged  by  the  canny  Scot,  and 
each 

"  Kept  something  to  himself, 
He  never  told  to  ony." 

But  of  the  details  given  on  both  hands,  we  need  report  nothing. 
Some  of  them  we  already  know;  others  may  pei chance  reach 
UH  from  purer  sources  of  intelligence.  We  shall  report  only 
those  portions  of  the  dialogue  which  more  immediately  affect 
the  parties  to  our  little  drama. 

"  Well,  Andrews,  what  says  Captain  Travis  now  I  Have 
you  been  with  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  cappin  :  but  he's  tough." 


278  EUTAW. 

"What!  stubborn  as  ever?" 

"  As  a  lightwood  knot." 

"Have  you  taken  pains  to  show  him  his  danger?" 

"  I  tell'd  him  jest  what  you  said." 

"But  not  that  /said  it?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  jest  as  ef  I  said  it  myself." 

"  You  let  him  understand  that  the  boy's  life  would  pay  foi 
his  stubbornness  ?" 

"  Says  I,  '  Cappin,  don't  you  see  we  has  to  make  you  come 
to  it?'  And  says  I,  'Cappin,  we  knows  you're  tough,  and  kin 
stand  a  great  deal  yourself;  but  the  boy  kaint  stand  it;  and 
don't  you  see,  cappin,'  says  I,  '  that  he's  a-gitting  thinner  and 
weaker  every  day  V  " 

"  And  you  let  him  see  the  boy  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  rether  reckon  he'd  seen  enough  before,  and  know'd 
well  what  to  look  for ;  and  he  know'd  us,  you  see ;  and  I  reck- 
on'd  his  fears  would  make  it  out  a  great  deal  worse  from  not 
seeing." 

"  Did  he  ask  to  see  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  but  T  tell'd  him,  '  The  boy's  too  weak  to  be  drag 
ging  about  from  place  to  place.'  " 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  that  ?" 

"  He  fairly  howl'd  agin,  and  said,  *  You're  a-murdering  the 
child!'" 

"Ah!  well?" 

"  Then  says  I,  '  Cappin,  don't  you  see  how  you're  to  save 
him  ?' " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Then  says  he,  *  Better  that  the  boy  should  perish,  than  that 
the  gal  should  be  a  sacrifice.  She,  at  least,  is  safe !'  Then  he 
swore,  down  upon  his  knees,  never  to  give  in  —  never  to  consent 
to  let  his  da'tei  be  your  wife." 

tl  We  must  make  him  unswear  it,  Andrews." 

"  All,  I  don't  quite  see  how  you're  to  do  that,  cappin.  He's 
tough  as  the  lightwood,  I  tell  you ;  and  I'm  a-thinking  it's  only 
right  and  sensible  tc  t-y  some  other  path  through  the  woods — 
try  some  bettor  sarcamventions." 

"What  other  V' 

''  Ou,  I  don't  quite  82e  myself.     That's  for  you  to  consider." 


HOW   INGLKI1AUD1    MAKK.S    A    DISCOVEIiY,  2'lfc 

"  I  see  no  other  AVUV.  We  must  take  the  toughness  out  of 
him.  We  must  be  more  and  more  tough  ourselves,  The  wood 
is  tough,  but  the  axe  tougher.  He  hardens  himself  against  us; 
we  must  make  ourselves  harder  upon  him." 

"  Well,  jest  as  you  say ;  and  ef  you  kin  show's  how  to  work 
into  his  tender  feelin's,  I'm  the  man  to  work.  I  owes  him  no 
favor.  But  I  reckon  we've  done  jest  as  much  as  we  kin  do,  to 
the  young  chap.  He  kaint  stand  much  more  of  the  hardship, 
and  the  poor  little  fellow  looks  so  bad  it  a-most  makes  me  sorry 
for  him." 

"  You  sorry  !" 

"  Well,  yes,  cappin  ;  for  you  see  he's  a  mere  brat  of  an  infant 
sarcumstance,  not  hardly  worth  while  for  a  grown  man  to  han 
dle.  I'd  retlicr  a  thousand  times  scorch  the  daddy  to  his  very 
intrails,  than  jest  give  the  suckling  a  scald." 

"  Eh  !  this  is  a  new  humor,  most  tender-hearted  of  all  the 
Satanics !"  s~id  Inglehardt,  eying  the  ruffian  with  a  sudden 
sharpness  of  glance.  "  How  long,  pray,  Joel  Andrews,  since 
you  began  to  recover  the  taste  of  your  mother's  milk  ?" 

"Well!"  laughed  the  ruffian  hoarsely  —  "it's  precious  little 
milk  of  any  sort  I  cares  about  onless  it's  the  milk  of  Jimmaker  ; 
but  I'm  a-thinking,  cappin,  that  it's  quite  a  pitiful  business  for 
strong  grown  men  like  we,  to  be  harnessing  down  a  leetle  brat 
of  an  infant  cub,  that  ain't  altogether  loosened  yit  from  his 
mother's  apun  strings.  Now,  I'm  willing  to  give  it  like  blazes 
to  the  old  rascal,  his  daddy  —  but—" 

"  You're  not  so  willing  to  give  it  to  the  boy,  eh  ?" 

"  N-o  —  not  so  edzackly,  captain  —  for  you  see — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see !  You  are  getting  tender-hearted  in  your 
old  age,  Andrews  —  meek  and  Christianlike." 

"  No,  not  Ohristianlike  edzackly  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  Joel,  though  you  may  noi  know  it  yourself.  Yoa 
Mre  growing  saintly.  I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  They  wear  a  most 
benign  and  Christian  expression  of  benevolencs." 

"  Now,  cappin,  you're  a  poking  fun  at  me." 

•<  Poking  fun  !  God  forbid  that  I  should  deal  GO  irreverently 
with  one  who  is  getting  grace  so  rapidly.  No  !  what  you  say 
impresses  me.  It  offers  some  new  views  of  the  subject.  It  is 
clear  that,  when  you  uvgo  considerations  of  humanity,  the  policy 


-80  EUTAW. 

of  our  practice  is  questionable.  Still,  it  may  be  that  tins  sort 
jf  life  is  not  consistent  with  your  genius,  and  that  your  mind 
has  grown  a  little  blunt  and  dull,  from  the  want  of  proper  asso 
ciation  with  the  camp.  I  fancy,  Joel,  you  must  have  renounced 
Jamaica  altogether." 

"  I  see  you're  poking  fun  at  me,  cappin.  But  you're  mis 
taken  ef  you  thinks  I  ain't  fit  for  the  old  business.  Only  I'm 
a  thinking,  you  ain't  in  the  right  way  for  bringing  old  Travis 
to  a  settlement." 

"  Can  you  teach  a  better?" 

"  Well,  I'd  sooner  you'd  try  a  haul  upon  his  own  neck  with 
a  tight  rope,  a  few  times  up  to  a  swinging  limb,  rather  than 
harness  the  boy  any  more  tightly." 

"  The  cub  seems  to  have  found  favor  in  your  eyes." 

"Oh!  no  — only— " 

"  Only,  you're  getting  pious,  Joel.  In  a  !!***«  v-nle,  I  app~e- 
hend,  you  will  grow  thoroughly  ashamed  of  The  title  of  '  Hell- 
fire  Dick.'  Nay,  you'll  be  getting  =angry  vv'th  any  one  who 
should  call  you  by  that  epithet.  You  will  prefer  to  be  called 
'  A  Brand-from-the-.hurning  Joel !' '' 

"  I  don't  think.     Es  for  the  'burning,  cappin — " 

"  Have  you  seen  the  bo^  lately  ?" 

"Oh!  yes." 

"  Ah  !     Have  you  talked  with  him  1" 

"  A  leetla  !     We've  had  a  consultation." 

"Ah  !   a  consultation!  a  good  word.     Well!'' 

"  Well,  cappin,  he's  a  poor  boy,  very  quite  down-hearted  and 
sort  o'  sickish." 

"  We  shall  have  to  physic  him.  We  do  not  want  him  to  die 
—  not  just  ye..  Though  such  cubs,  if  let  alone,  are  apt  tc  grow 
into  very  fierce,  strong  wolves,  wild  and  savage,  and  sometimes 
too  strong  to.  their  keepers  Now,  had  the  '  harnessing'  been 
a  little  tighter  and  heavier,  and  had  some  signs  of  it  been  shown 
to  the  father,  as  I  ordered,  I  fancy  we  should  have  seen  the 
traits  of  it  before  this,  Why  was  not  this  done  •?" 

"  He  couldn't  stand  it.  cappin." 

1  Pshaw,  an  occasional  scoring-  of  hickories  on  his  bare  shou?.- 
•*?.ra,  would  only  have  roused  the  urchin,  and  such  a  sight,  to 


HOW    INGLEIIARDT    MAKES   A    DISCOVERY.  281 

the  father,  would  Lave  taken  the  toughness  out  of  him.  .1  bade 
you  try  the  experiment." 

"  It  went  agin  me,  cappin.     I  couldn't  do  it." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Andrews,  that  your  taste  for  asses'  milk,  has 
somewhat  lessened  the  value  of  your  services  in  affairs  of 
men." 

"  Ef  it's  a  fight,  cappin,  and  with  grown  men,  I'm  as  good  a 
man  as  ever." 

"  Well,  we  must  exercise  you  in  that  field,  since  the  other 
seems  only  calculated  to  develop  the  Christian  virtues,  which 
are  just  now  absolutely  useless.  You  can  go  back  to  the  camp, 
good  Joel,  and  betake  yourself  to  fhe  more  genial  employments 
of  the  drill.  I  will  see  the  boy  myself.  I  must  try  and  find 
out  some  less  saintly  operator  on  the  fears  of  the  father." 

And  thus  they  separated,  Inglehardt  pressing  on  to  Muddi- 
coat  Castle,  and  Dick  of  Tophet  worming  his  way  through  the 
thickets  to  the  camp  which  they  had  left.  He  had  lost  his  cap 
tain's  favor.  He  was  conscious  of  that.  But  Joel  had  a  sort 
of  philosophy  of  his  own. 

"  And  who  cares !  He  kaint  do  without  me  in  the  field. 
He's  got  no  man,  I  knows,  to  take  my  place.  Let  him  find 
somebody  to  do  that  lectle  business  for  him ;  I  kaint  and  won't! 
I'm  not  a  Christian  —  that  I  knows.  I'm  as  bad  a  fellow  as 
most ;  and  worse,  I'm  willing  to  say,  than  most  I  knows  !  But, 
though  my  heart  is  black,  and  had,  and  bloody  as  hell,  yit,  by 
the  Etarnal,  thar's  some  heart  in  my  body  yit.;  and  that's  what 
you  kaint  say  for  your  own,  Cappin  Inglehardt.  Ef  'tain't 
stone,  then  it's  iron,  or  'tain't  nothing.  No,  no  !  I  wouldn't 
mind  giving  the  father  a  h'ist  to  a  swinging  limb  ;  but  I  couldn't 
hurt  a  hair  of  the  boy's  head  now,  for  nothing,  nor  for  anybody. 
He  had  me  at  his  marcy  —  me  drunk  —  asleep  —  and  he  with 
my  own  knife  standing  over  me  !  And  he  didn't  stick  !  More 
fool  he,  I  says !  For,  I  desarved  nothing  better.  By  rights, 
he  ought  to  ha'  made  mincemeat  of  me:  but  he  didn't;  and  my 
hand  sha'n't  be  raised  agin  him  —  never  agin  !" 

The  idea  that  suggested  itself  to  the  mind  of  Inglehardt,  by 
which  to  account  for  the  sudden  change  in  the  humors  of  the 
ferocious  Dick  of  Tophet,  was  that  he  had  been  bribed  in  some 
way  — corrupted  by  the  son  or  the  father;  to,  at  least,  a  partial 


282  EUTAW. 


He  gave  him  no  credit  for  any  increase  of  human 
ity,  and  never  could  Lave  conceived  the  relation  which  had 
been  established  between  the  parties,  by  Poor  Pilgrim,     Dick, 
himself,  had  only  indirectly  indicated  this  plea,  and  had  never 
himself  dreamed  of  any  right  that  he  had  to  make  it. 

The  inspection  of  Henry  Travis  was  calculated  to  confirm 
this  impression  of  Inglehardt.  The  boy,  though  still  pale,  and, 
of  course,  unhappy,  was  yet  considerably  improved  in  his  ap 
pearance.  He  had  certainly  lost  no  flesh.  Some  inquiries, 
which  were  then  made,  of  Brunson,  the  Trailer,  and  Pete  Blod- 
git,  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  occasional  suppers  of  meat,  which 
Dick  had  provided  for  the  boy  ;  and  to  the  more  curious  reve 
lation  still,  of  the  nightly  processes,  by  which,  through  Henry 
and  Poor  Pilgrim,  the  ruffian  was  endeavoring  to  remedy  his 
deficiencies  in  "book-learning."  The  whole  history  struck  In 
glehardt  as  exhibiting  an  equal  degree  of  stupidity  and  treach 
ery  in  his  agent.  It  was  not  difficult  to  procure  additional  tes 
timony  that,  on  all  of  these  nightly  visits  of  the  jailer,  to  his 
prisoner,  the  former  was  very  decidedly  drunk  ;  a  fact  which 
greatly  helped  the  morals  of  the  offender,  in  the  estimation  of 
his  superior;  for,  if  drunk,  he  could  scarcely  suppose  him  de 
liberate  ;  and,  lacking  in  deliberation,  he  could  hardly  suspect 
him  of  any  treacherous  design.  Of  course,  he  heard  nothing  of 
the  scene,  in  which,  the  boy,  having  the  drunken  man  at  his 
mercy,  spared  his  life  ;  a  fact  which  might  better  have  account 
ed  to  Inglehardt,  for  the  human  change  which  had  taken  place 
in  the  nature  of  his  emissary. 

The  result  of  his  investigations,  was  to  transfer  the  charge 
of  Henry  Travis  to  Bruuson  ;  to  whom  he  gave  such  instruc 
tions  as  were  best  calculated  to  carry  out  his  policy,  by  which 
the  sufferings  of  the  boy  were  to  be  made  to  act  upon  the  sym 
pathies  of  the  father  ;  so  as  to  produce  the  concessions  which 
were1  demanded  of  him,  by  his  captor.  Inglehardt  had  an  inter 
view  with  Travis,  in  which  he  was  at  some  pains  to  let  the  father 
know  that  his  son  was  too  ill  to  be  seen  ;  a  communication 
which  filled  the  soul  of  the  old  man  with  fresh  agony,  but  did 
not  move  his  resolution.  Inglehardt  exhibited  great  coolness, 
amounting  to  indifference,  in  regard  to  the  subject  ;  his  whole 
deportment  being  that  of  one  assured  of  his  power,  and  of  the 


HOW   INGLEHARDT   MAKES   A    DISCOVEBY.  Il8o 

ultimate  attain  merits  of  his  objects.  He  did  not  linger  in  tL« 
interview ;  nor  long  in  the  recesses  of  Muddicoat.  Having 
arranged  the  future  government  of  the  precinct  to  his  own  satis 
faction,  he  rejoined  the  camp,  and  now,  taking  Dick  of  Tophet 
along  with  him,  as  more  useful  in  the  field  than  in  the  camp  — 
certainly  more  to  be  trusted  when  removed  from  the  temptation 
to  treachery,  which  might  be  found  at  Muddicoat  Castle,  In- 
glehardt  rode  on  his  progress  —  foraying  equally  on  British  and 
his  own  account. 

He  had  not  been  gone  half  an  hour  from  the  place  where  the 
encampment  had  been  made,  when  Nelly  Floyd  might  be  seen 
to  emerge  from  the  deep  thickets  in  the  rear,  where  she  had 
found  safe  harborage,  quite  unsuspected,  and  in  a  situation 
where  she  could  see  a  good  deal  that  was  going  on,  and  hear 
perhaps  quite  as  much  that  was  spoken.  She  had  made  some 
discoveries  both  in  camp  and  castle,  and  it  was  wonderful  with 
what  instinct — if  this  indeed  be  the  proper  word  in  the  case  of 
one  so  curiously  gifted  —  she  could  find  and  pursue  the  clues  to 
the  secrets  of  other  people.  She  had  certainly  found  the  secret 
passage,  over  log,  and  fallen  tree,  and  through  sinuous  path 
ways  of  a  seemingly  interminable  and  impervious  swamp,  which 
conducted  to  the  recesses  of  the  castle.  What  other  disco/er- 
ies  she  had  made  there  must  be  reserved  for  future  study  ^nd 
report.  At  present  she  prepares  to  canter  after  the  troor;  of 
Inglehardt,  which,  from  this  moment,  she  is  sworn  to  follow  — 
haunting  the  footsteps  of  her  wretched  and  undeserving  brother 
—  as  devoutly  as  she  followed  him,  when  he  served  under  the 
guidance  of  Lem  Watkins,  and  the  outlaw,  Rhodes.  We  shall 
not  accompany  this  par^y,  now,  but,  at  a  future  stage  of  our 
narrative,  will  make  the  necessary  report  of  their  progress, 
Enough,  here,  that  N-3J!v  Floyd  keeps  them  in  sight,  but  with 
wonderful  dexterity  ?•.  manages  her  own  and  the  movements 
of  her  little  poiiv,  A^gy,  that  her  following  footsteps  are  never 
once  suspected  b7  any  of  the  troop,  unless,  indeed,  by  her 
brother ;  who,  if  i  •,  Ic  it  suspect  has  at  least  sufficient  prudence 
co  keep  his  suspc  ns  seciet. 

She  disappear?  fro  •?  the  scene;  and,  that  very  afternoon,  we 
find.  Jim  r^a'lo'i  prowling  about  the  encampment  which  Ingle- 
has  *3feo:*j  ^cuii'iii;j  and  inspecting  horse-track? — 


284  EUTAW. 

turning  from  one  clue  to  another,  and  finding  himself,  at  the 
close  of  the  day,  in  as  great  a  state  of  bewilderment  as  ever. 

'Here's  the  pony  track,"  quoth  Ballou.  "  Here,  and  here, 
and  here ;  but  here  it  stops.  Here's  the  troop,  every  horse 
counted  —  where  they  were  hitched,  and  where  they  stamped 
through  a  three  hours'  feed  or  more.  It's  clear  this  is  not  the 
first,  nor  the  second  time  either,  that  the  same  party's  camped 
in  this  very  place.  They've  been  here,  now,  more  than  three 
times,  this  very  body.  Here's  the  track  of  Inglehardt,  and  this 
is  Devil  Dick.  I  can't  find  the  Trailer's.  I  reckon  he's  on  a 
tramp.  But  where,  and  what  after?  Now  what  should  make 
the  troop  camp  here,  three  several  times  at  least ;  camp  here 
for  a  matter  of  three  hours  for  a  time,  that's  the  question.  Here 
the  tracks  lead  directly  on ;  no  turning  one  side  or  the  other. 
Of  course  I  know  there's  a  secret  —  and  it's  there  —  there,  and 
nowhere  else  but  there— the  secret's  there,  nowhere  else  but 
there  —  there  !" 

And  the  scout's  eyes  ranged  over,  while  his  arm  was  extended 
toward,  the  vast,  yet  utterly  blank  and  silent  waste  of  dense 
swamp  thicket  which  spread  away  on  all  sides  but  one,  seeming 
everywhere  equally  impenetrable,  and  rendering  the  attempt  to 
enter  it  a  madness,  particularly  in  the  dog-days,  unless  one 
^ou'.d  be  sure  of  a  clue  to  some  already  beaten  pathway. 

"If  I  could  take  the  wind  of  that  pony  !"  quoth  the  scout, 
"that  pony  —  Bite's  brought  me  a  step  farther  than  anything 
else.  And  it's  mighty  curious  too.  The  person  that  rides  that 
pony  is  tracking  the  party  just  as  I'm  doing.  He  don't  hitch 
and  halter  with  the  rest ;  always  half  a  mile  ahead  or  behind, 
and  then  in  the  closest  thicket.  And  I  catch  the  track  when 
they're  a  moving,  always  separate,  and  half  the  time  it's  in  the 
woods,  even  when  there's  a  high  road  to  travel.  It's  a  little 
creature  too,  must  be  ridden  by  a  boy,  I  reckon ;  and  it  takes  a 
vuvtty  long  lope  too,  as  if  'twas  quick  and  didn't  need  the  whip 
and  -pur.  Here  it  is  you  see  —  and  here  —  and  here.  Now  it 
goes  off  on  one  side  round  them  Irishes ;  and  now  it  comes  out  on 
the  track  of  the  party  But  it  don't  keep  it  long,  the  same ;  it 
works  cautious,  and  on  the  watch  always.  Well,  it's  my  con 
dition,  thar's  a  spy  upon  Inglehardt's  heels,  and  it's  a  boy-spy, 
or  some  mighty  light  person  And  wiiat  to  make  of  that  — 


HOW   INGLEHARDT   MAKES    A    DISCOVERY. 

make  of  that !  I'm  bothered  all  to  bits  !  It's  a  shame  to  mo 
that  a  brat  of  a  boy-spy  should  be  better  able  to  fasten  upon 
the  heels  of  that  troop  than  an  old  swamp -sucker,  and  wood 
borer  like  myself ! 

<l  But,  I  must  even  follow  the  pony  so  long  as  :.';  /v.iuwfl  the 
party.  There's  nothing  better  to  be  done !  Th.'.ro'o  i  secret 
about  here;  that  I  see;  but  it's  hunting  for  a  nee  lie  in  a  hay. 
stack,  to  poke  into  that  wilderness  of  swamp  thicket  without 
some  little  finger-point  along  the  route.  It's  a  waste  of  time 
and  patience.  No  !  The  shortest  way  is  to  take  after  the 
pony.  How  if  the  rider  is  Henry  Travis !  If  he's  got  off 
from  Inglehardt,  and  has  picked  up  some  marsh  tackey,  and  is 
close  following  after  his  father  ?  By  Jupiter,  that's  a  sensible 
notion.  And  yet,  if  it's  him,  he's  moro  cf  a  bor^  sioui  than  A 
ever  reckoned  him  to  be.  He's  got  a  genius  for  it,  if  it's  hnn. 
A  genius  for  it  —  a  genius !  He  beats  me.  I  ain't  altogether 
what  I  was.  I'm  a  doing  nothing  —  nothing.  I'm  just  as 
stupid  as  a  fat  turkey.  If  I  only  had  a  mouthful  of  Jamaica 
now  —  but  one  mouthful  —  mouthful  —  I  reckon  my  sense  would 
come  back  to  me.  I  hain't  had  my  right  senses  ever  since  I 
gave  up  Jamaica,  I  hain't !  Yet  I've  sworn  a  rnonstratious  cath 
agin  the  creature  —  the  Lord  forgive  me  —  and  keep  me  from 
temptation !" 

Ballon  was  jaded,  and  not  A  little  mortified.  The  reader 
understands,  we  trust,  the  peculiar  difficulties  in  the  way  ;>f 
his  further  discoveries  at  the  present  moment.  He  hits  jd.' 
none  but  cold  tracks  of  Inglehardt  and  his  troopers  to  pursue 
and  the,  trail  has  been  that  of  horsemen;  and  has  been  cut, 
whenever  the  horsemen  have  reached  the  camp,  within  a  mils 
of  the  swamp  fastness.  The  further  connection  between  the 
one  place  and  the  other  has  been  found  only  on  foot,  and  IK 
known  to  only  a  few  of  Inglehardt's  party.  The  foot  trail  h-ie 
.luded  the  search  of  our  scout  for  sufficient  reasons,  It,  las 
r^eon  so  contrived  that  there  shall  be  no  foo',  tr-.i'  r!h?>  lal'y 
•inth  in  which  Traviu  and  his  con  were  hidden  aw*;  .a&v-.- 
u-T/er  been  sought  by  any  of  the  parties  on  borseb  ,ck ;  and  th  j 
~:mte,  penetrating  the  swamp  at  one  'din';  CTuy  in  a  front  Ot 
B3i.jra)  rniles,  his  iKt  •?.  single  g-t'.ioat  ^ea^re  oy  which  to  arrest 
tlu-  eye,  .  vo  ti^d  it  i>:tuir:js  a  ;lue,  which,  as  yet  our  scout  lia 


28»>  EUTAW. 

entirely  failed  to  gain.  The  nearest  approach  to  this  swamp 
fastness  was  made  by  Nelly  Floyd's  pony,  which  was  sheltered 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  thicket,  but  fully  a  mile  from  the  spot 
where  the  enhance  was  effected.  Ballou  must  wait  everts. 
But  he  resumes  his  journey  with  spirit,  and  if  scout  is  ever  to 
be  successful,  in  finding  sign,  where  sign  is  none,  you  may  be 
eure  he  is  the  man  for  it, 


THE    BARDIC    TAKES    FLTOHT 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  BARON  TAKES  FLIGHT. 

MEANWHILE,  the  outer  and  the  greater  world  has  not  been 
quietly  at  rest,  purring  like  a  fat  tabby  at  its  slumber  upon  the 
hearth  rug,  while  we  have  been  observing  the  action  in  progress 
among  a  portion  of  our  own  dramatis  persona.  Lord  Rawdon 
bar,  been  kept  busy  in  his  camp  at  Orangeburg ;  on  the  qui  vive 
lest  Greene  should  be  down  upon  him  without  giving  signals. 
His  situation  is  one  to  embarrass  a  general  exceedingly.  He 
can  not  obtain  information.  Lacking  in  horse,  and  the  few 
troops  of  this  arm  in  his  service,  being  constantly  busy  in  the 
work  of  foraying  for  the  army  —  lacking,  also,  as  these*  do,  in 
enterprise  and  moral  —  he  finds  it  impossible  to  ascertain  exactly 
what  the  continentals  are  about.  Their  mounted  men  are  suf 
ficiently  active,  everywhere,  not  only  to  ke-ep  him  from  intelli 
gence,  but  to  keep  him  apprehensive  of  a  movement  on  every 
quarter;  and  all  sorts  of  rumors  reach  him,  and  distress  him, 
touching  the  movements  of  his  enemies.  His  liver  does  not 
improve  under  the  circumstances ;  and  he  is  anxious  to  leave  a 
position  which  is  so  distressingly  full  of  anxieties ;  but  it  is  now 
a  point  of  honor  that  he  should  not  do  so,  so  long  as  there  is  any 
possibility  of  a  demonstration  being  made  by  Greene. 

But  though  much  worried,  and  something  bewildered  by  his 
circumstances,  Rawdon  is  too  good  a  soldier  to  pule,  and  peak, 
and  pine,  and  do  nothing.  He  strains  every  nerve,  spares  no 
exertion,  to  put  his  army  on  a  good  footing,  so  that  he  shall  be 
ready  for  attack,  at  any  moment,  and,  if  spared  a  struggle,  for 
which  he  can  only  inadequately  prepare  at  best  —  then,  that  he 
shall  be  able  to  leave  the  army  in  good  position  and  condition 


to  his  successor  Grin.];,  he  works*  day  by  day,  in  Qrattgeourg 
He  is  severe  as  Rhadamanthus,  and,  no  doubt,  tries  to  be  as 
just  as  Minos.  He  has  needed  to  hang  a  few  raw  Irishmen  — 
his  own  countrymen — for  a  riot,  that  looked  like  mutiny.  He 
has  driven  all  the  idle  mouths  out  of  the  village.  He  lias 
bought,  or  seized,  all  the  horses  that  could  be  laid  hands  on  ; 
and  his  liver  gets  no  better!  He  must  try  other  specifics;  but, 
just  now,  he  can  not  try  Charleston.  He  is  fettered  by  duty 
for  the  present,  and  this  bondage  does  not,  improve  his  temper. 
His  subordinates  are  hourly  made  sensible  of  this. 

Meanwhile,  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  has  been  required  to 
rejoin  his  regiment,  the  nineteenth,  at  Monck's  Corner.  His 
lordship  found  it  no  longer  pleasant  to  serve  as  aide  to  a  general 
whose  liver  is  so  much  out  of  order  as  Rawdou's ;  and,  being 
of  an  enterprising  disposition  besides,  and  hearing  vague  rumors 
of  a  movement  of  Sumter's  below  —  the  movement  on  Murray's 
f'eny  had  reached  his  ears  —  he  signified  his  desire  to  join  hip 
regiment,  to  which  Rawdon  readily  listened.  With  a  corps  of 
forty  horse,  badly  mounted,  and  mostly  loyalists,  Fitzgerald 
succeeded  in  getting  to  Monck's  Corner  at  the  lucky  interval, 
when  all  the  American  light  parties,  having  struck  down  for  the 
Ashley  river  and  Goose  creek  country,  he  found  the  roads  tol 
erably  clear.  He  took  the  Sinclair  barony  en  route,  and  ten 
dered  his  escort  to  the  colonel  of  that  ilk.  But,  just  then,  our 
oyalist  baron  was  suffering  from  a  severe  grip  of  the  gout, 
which  left  him  inaccessible  to  every  suggestion,  of  whatever 
sort,  and  made  that  of  travel  particularly  personal  and  offensive. 
We  are  afraid  that  his  civility,  if  not  hospitality,  was  something 
faulty  on  this  occasion ;  and,  which  made  the  visit  of  particu 
larly  ungracious  result,  in  the  eyes  of  Fitzgerald,  Carrie  Sin 
clair  so  contrived  it  as  not  to  give  our  young  Irish  noble  a 
single  chance  of  a  private  chat  with  her.  Either  she  was 
always  about  her  father,  or  about  the  household  affairs,  or  Lottie 
was  always  with  her. 

Lord  Edward  cursed  the  Fates  which  required  that  he  should 
set  off  at  dawn  of  day,  without  obtaining  a  single  love-chance. 
He  had  not  sufficiently  overcome  the  preliminary  difficulties,  as 
to  venture  to  summon  the  fortress.  He  reached  Monck's  Cor 
ner  without  ntemiption,  his  party  being  one  of  those  the  prog- 


THE    BARON   1AKES    FLIGHT.  289 

ress  of  which  contributed  to  the  alarm  of  our  friend  Bram,  now 
serving  as  scout-sergeant  to  the  bewildered  ladies  of  the  Travis 
household,  where  they  harbored,  lurking,  perdu,  in  that  of  the 
Widow  Avinger. 

But  though,  under  the  griping  pain  of  his  gout,  our  Baron  Sin 
clair  was,  perhaps,  somewhat  cavalier  in  his  treatment  of  Lord 
Edward,  he  yet  greatly  regretted  his  inability  to  avail  himself 
of  the  proffered  escort.  At  the  particular  moment  when  the 
escort  was  tendered  him,  his  case  was  at  the  worst  —  he  was 
immovable,  and  the  young  lord  could  not  wait  for  him.  He 
would  sooner  have  submitted  to  a  rapier-thrust,  under  the  fifth 
rib,  than  stirred  a  peg  of  his  own  motion.  Three  days  after,  how 
ever,  the  acuteness  of  his  pains  over,  he  prepared  to  depart.  It 
was  easy  now  to  do  so.  All  his  preparations  had  been  duly  made. 
The  great  family  carriage  was  in  the  courtyard,  four  fine  blacks 
(horses,  not  negroes)  were  harnessed  to  it,  and  old  Sam  was 
mounted  on  the  box.  Behind,  you  see  Little  Peter,  rising  like 
Gog  upon  Magog,  upon  a  monstrous  raw-boned  steed  of  wonder 
ful  dimensions.  The  carriage  was  an  affair  of  state  in  the  old 
families  of  those  days  in  Carolina.  It  was  of  London  manu 
facture,  and  modelled  after  that  of  the  lord-mayor — possibly  of 
Whittington's  time.  Four  horses  were  much  more  necessary  to 
such  a  vehicle,  than  two  would  be  to  the  modern  equipage  of 
the  same  denomination.  Of  course,  our  baron  was  accompanied 
by  his  daughters ;  and  there  was  a  little  negro-girl  whom  they 
stowed  away  in  some  capacious  crevice. 

Our  baron,  bolstered  up  with  blanket  and  military  cloak,  with 
cushions  adjusted  to  his  feet,  was  already  lifted  into  the  vdiicle, 
when  lie  called  aloud  for  sword  and  pistols.  He  tried  the  latter 
with  the  ramrod,  and  satisfied  himself  that  the  charge  was  wor 
thy  of  the  bore  in  each.  He  adjusted  these  conveniently  to  his 
grasp,  in  the  pocket  of  the  coach  beside  him.  His  rapier  hung 
before  him,  just  as  ready  to  the  gripe.  You  will  please  suppose 
that  creature  comforts  were  not  improvidently  forgotten  by  so 
good  a  housekeeper  as  Carrie  Sinclair.  And,  ere  the  vehicle 
was  set  in  motion,  what  a  cohort  of  Ethiopians  gathered  around, 
to  wave  and  shout  the  farewell  to  master  and  mistress.  And 
eaca  squad  had  its  own  satrap,  prominently  advanced,  cap  in 
hand  ;  at  the  head  of  all,  the  redoubtable  Benny  Bowlegs  —  over- 

Cj 


290  EUTAW. 

seer  and  driver  —  a  sort  of  cross  of  orderly-sergeant  upon  driver 
Benny  had  sundry  causes  of  dissatisfaction  and  complaint,  which 
dwelt  upon  in  previous  conferences,  lie  was  fain  to  renew  at  the 
parting  moment. 

"  I  tell  you,  maussa,  'tis  a  mos'  foolish  derangement,  dis,  dat 
takes  ole  Sam,  who's  jes'  as  good  as  nobody  —  and  Leetle  Peter 
who  habs  no  experiences  in  de  worl',  and  leffs  behind  de  berry 
pusson  dat  can  manage  de  trab'ling  operations.  Wha's  de  good 
ob  ole  Sam,  and  Leetle  Peter,  ef  you  gits  into  any  skrimmaging 

wid  dem  d d  reffygees  ?     I's  de  properesome  pusson  for  hab 

de  charge  ob  dis  trab'ling  distractions." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  of  troubles,  and  distractions,  and  skrimmages 
to  us  now,  Daddy  Ben,  when  we  are  on  the  eve  of  starting !" 
said  Carrie. 

"  1  ain't  put  'em  off,  tell  dis  time,  Miss  Carrie.  I  bin  talk  to 
ole  maussa  'bout  'em  before." 

"  To  be  sure  you  did,  you  troublesome  old  rascal !"  cried  the 
colonel,  with  a  groan,  as  a  twinge  of  his  gouty  timbers  remind 
ed  him  of  his  mortality.  "  To  be  sure  you  did ;  and  that  is 
just  sufficient  reason  that  you  shouldn't  bother  me  again  about 
the  matter.  I  tell  you,  old  dog,  that  you  are  quite  too  conceit 
ed  !  Old  Sam  is  as  good  a  driver  as  ever  you  were  in  your  best 
days ;  and  Little  Peter  is  twice  as  strong  as  you  are,  ef  there's 
any  need  of  fighting  —  do  you  hear?" 

"  Yes,  maussa,  Pete  hab  de  strengt',  but  whey  he  git  he  sod- 
ger  edication?  /Tarn  wid  youse'fm  de  Cherokee  war." 

"  Oh,  d — n  the  Cherokee  war  now !  and  no  more  of  your 
stuff,  Benny.  I  should  take  you  with  me,  and  should  prefer  to 
do  so,  you  old  rascal,  if  I  didn't  want  you  here  !  —  prefer  you  to 
any  other  outrider,  if  it  will  do  your  conceit  any  good  to  hear 
me  say  it ;  but  we  can't  spare  you  from  the  plantation.  I  need 
you  Jicre,  I  say,  to  keep  the  garrison,  and  save  the  property,  and 
beat  off  outlaws,  and  run  the  hands,  if  need  be,  across  the  swamp. 
You  remember  all  my  directions  on  these  subjects  ?  And,  hark 
you,  old  fellow,  have  you  hidden  away  all  the  indigo  in  the 
swamp  ?" 

"  Ebbry  bit.  De  debble  hese'f  couldn't  fin'  'em,  nor  Debbie- 
Dick  neider!" 

"Well,  T  can't  stop  now  for  further  directions.     Wr  have  no 


THE   BARON   TAKES   FLIGHT.  291 

time  to  lose.  I  must  have  your  wisdom,  and  your  military  edu 
cation,  and  your  fidelity  and  courage,  here,  old  fellow  !  You 
are  captain  of  tlie  garrison,  do  you  hear  ?  and  that  should  satisfy 
your  monstrous  vanity,  I'm  sure.  It  would,  if  you  were  a  white 
man.  But  a  conceited  negro,  Benny,  has  the  stomach  of  an 
ostrich." 

"  Me,  Benny,  conceited,  maussa?  —  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  a  peacock.  But,  give  me  your  hand,  old  fellow. 
There!  see  to  everything.  I  look  to  you — to  no  one  else. 
So  be  satisfied.  God  bless  you,  Benny !  God  bless  you,  my 
people !  Take  care  of  yourselves ;  follow  Benny.  He  will 
take  care  of  you.  Good-by  all!" 

And  the  answer — through  all  the  notes  of  the  gamut — was 
vociferous  from  a  hundred  mouths. 

"  Gorrah  bross  you,  maussa  !  Gorrah  bress  you,  young  missis  ! 
DC  Lawd  be  wid  you,  and  hab  massy  'pon  you  !"  —  "  Good-by, 
Miss  Carrie?"  — "Da!  da!  Lottie!  Da!  da!  bring  frock  for 
Sissy  Bepp  !" — "An'  knife  for  Bike,  please  !"  —  "An'  Leetle 
Lottie,  'member  de  Jews'  harp  you  bin  promise  for  Jupe !" 
And  there  was  no  end  to  commissions,  farewells,  and  benedic--' 
tions,  which  followed  the  party  down  the  avenue  long  after  it 
had  got  quite  out  of  hearing. 

Ah,  the  dear  black,  dirty  scamps  of  negroes,  big  and  little,  on 
one  of  the  old  ante-revolutionary  plantations !  They  acknowl 
edge  loving  necessities  as  the  fleas  do ;  are  as  free  in  their  in 
timacies  as  the  frogs  of  Egypt ;  will  blacken  the  very  sunshine 
upon  your  walls  with  the  pressure  of  their  affections  ;  and  carry 
real,  genuine  hearts,  full  of  sympathy  for  all  the  family,  in  spite 
of  their  rarely -washed  visages  —  which  revolt,  instinctively,  at 
the  unnatural,  application  of  soap  and  water  to  a  skin  that  great 
ly  prefers  friction  with  oil  and  sunshine.  But  we  must  go  on. 

Colonel  Sinclair  was  fortunate  in  his  progress.  He  suffered 
no  interruptions,  and  was  permitted  to  grunt  at  ease,  upon  the 
grips  of  his  gout,  and  to  make  himself  as  comfortable  as  he 
could  in  the  narrow  province  to  which  his  ample  physique  was 
perforce  contracted.  You  will  please  suppose  him,  at  best,  to 
'have  got  on  badly.  Still  the  worst  of  his  present  attack  was 
passed,  and  it  was  only  what,  tho  physicians  facetiously  call  the 
"  tail  of  the  gout"  that  gave  hirn  any  inconveniences.  His  feel 


292  EUTAW. 

were  simply  sore  and  swollen,  and  every  now  and  then  lie  suf 
fered  a  twinge  of  toe  or  ankle  sncb  as  a  loving  blacksmith's  vice 
<"nild  effect  upon  a  joint  into  which  the  operator  should  thrust 
at  the  same  time  a  tiny  cambric  needle.  The  restraint  was 
something  too  of  an  annoyance,  riding  in  a  close  vehicle.  Our 
colonel  was  an  equestrian,  and  never  rode  in  a  carriage  if  he 
could  help  it.  When  able  to  escape  its  use,  he  cursed  all  such 
contrivances  of  art.  Now  he  groaned  uneasily  at  a  necessity 
which  he  could  not  escape. 

The  weather,  though  still  hot,  was  not  otherwise  unpleasant 
The  roads  were  good.  The  carriage  was  slow  of  movement, 
but  this  rather  on  account  of  the  invalid  than  because  of  any 
inability  of  the  horses.  As  already  said,  the  moment  was 
favorable  to  a  safe  progress  down  to  Monck's  Corner.  The 
American  parties  were  mostly  below ;  the  British  were  chiefly 
circumscribed  within  the  bounds  of  the  Orangeburg  and  Charles 
ton  garrisons,  except  the  command  of  Colonel  Coates  at  the 
Monck's  Corner  post,  where  the  Nineteenth  regiment,  with 
some  auxiliar  forces  were  stationed.  There  had  been  small 
Tiommaiids  elsewhere  about,  on  the  route  or  near  it,  but  these 
have  been  electrically  affected  by  the  progress  below  of  the 
American  parties,  and  have  drawn  in  their  antennae.  Still, 
there  were  roving  squads  of  both  parties  —  unlicensed  foray ers, 
who  might  be  looked  for  at  any  moment,  and  with  whom  no 
body  could  feel  quite  safe,  unless  they  were  able  to  make  fight. 
It  may  have  been  some  of  these  rapscallions  who  dashed  by  the 
carriage,  twice  or  thrice  during  the  progress.  It  was  not  easy 
to  conjecture  who  they  were.  Their  uniforms  were  not  uni 
form,  and  of  nondescript  cut  and  color.  These  all  came  from 
above,  or  turned  in  from  lateral  roads,  and  were  all  spurring 
below.  They  offered  no  offence,  however,  and  no  inquiry  cal 
culated  to  provoke  the  wonder  of  our  travell^c.  At  each  ap 
proach  of  these  parties  the  veteran  grasped  his  pistes,  and  kept 
them  ready  with  finger  on  trigger.  But  his  v&'iancy  remained 
unchallenged.  The  strangers  all  proved  fast  rideis,  scfcrc&Iy 
giving  more  than  a  look  to  the  party  as  they  drove  below,  l&e 
so  many  vultures  trooping  to  the  carnage. 

Little  Peter  looked  knowing  as  they  passed  him  by.  He 
might  have  answered-  the  colonel's  doubts  had  the  latter  comlu 


ri\£Gi     >A30M    TAKES    FLIGHT.  293 

&2encied  to  '"...-.  The  parties  —  Little  Peter  would  have 

c  r:rn  -w<rb  &U  JJL icon's,  --n  their  way  back  to  the  camp  of 
v-v3  Sw&mj-Fox.  •"."i  3  lar^e  business  on  hand  below  gave  them 
no  time  for  loitering. 

"What  hawks  can  tiose  be  ?"  muttered  the  colonel. 

"  Civil  ones,  at  least/*  said  Carrie  Sinclair.  "  I  suspect  them 
to  belong  to  ';h .,  liberty  party." 

"Liberty  devi'.s!  Rebels,  Miss  Sinclair!  Heartless,  soul 
less,  insensible,  savage,  ridiculous  rebels  !  Liberty  indeed  !  as 
if  liberty  was  designed  for  such  scum  of  the  earth  ;  as  if  the 
great  body  of  any  people,  of  any  country,  were  in  any  way 
prepared  for  that  blessing  which  belongs  only  to  the  gods,  or  at 
most  to  the  bes',  and  wisest  of  the  human  family.  Don't  use 
such  nonsensical  phrases  again,  my  daughter.  You  may  be 
right  enough  in  your  conjecture  that  they  belong  to  the  rebel 
party :  their  vagabond  looks  and  costume  would  seem  to  say  as 
much.  Such  rapscallions  to  constitute  an  army,  and  to  dream 
of  liberty!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Really,  the  more  you  see  of  this 
wretched  rebellion,  the  more  absurd  and  monstrous  it  shows 
itself." 

"  Of  the  absurdity  of  it,  my  dear  father,"  answered  Carrie 
demurely,  "  it  may  be  prudent  to  say  nothing  until  we  see  the 
result  "Rebellion  is  said  to  change  its  name  when  it  succeeds. 
Success  is  very  apt  to  strip  the  enterprise  of  the  absurdity  which 
attended  its  outset." 

/:  But" --with  a  sort  of  horror  in  his  countenance — "you 
can  not  fam  y  surely  that  there  is  any  prospect  of  success  for 
rapscallions  rebellion  such  as  this  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  Appearances  are  certainly  very  suspi 
cious  at  the  present  juncture.  Why  are  we  running  away  from 
home  1  Why  is  my  Lord  Rawclon  about  to  run  away  from  Or- 
angeburg?  Why  have  the  British  generals  run  away  from  all 
;heir  posts  of  Camden,  Granby,  Ninety-Six,  Fort  Motte,  Au 
gusta —  everywhere,  except  Orangeburg  and  Charleston  ?  If 
these  signs  have  any  import  whatever,  then  rebellion  is  fast 
losing  its  old  aspects,  whether  of  monstrosity  or  absurdity." 

"  Nonsense  !  What  should  a  woman  know  of  such  matters  ? 
These  movements  of  the  British  generals,  which  you  most  ridic 
ulously  style  '  runnings,'  are,  in  other  and  proper  words,  '  strato. 


294  EUTAW. 

gics.'  They  merely  indicate  a  profouiM?  policy:  Ut«j;  ?.*  v> 
sigaed  to  delude  these  vulgar  ai.d  conceited  rebels,  V/D'.,  ii  1-ney 
forget  themselves,  and  dare  to  occupy  the  places  which  I;av3 
been  temporarily  abandoned,  will  become  tha  certain  victima 
of  that  policy  which  thus  designs  to  snar«3  thenn  to  their  fate/' 

"  As  we  bait  a  mouse  or  rat  trap,  and  draw  off  that  thft  rat  ci 
mouse  may  have  the  liberty  to  cage  himself  V" 

"  Precisely ;  though  your  comparison  is  h-"areHly  sufficiently 
dignified  for  the  subject,  Miss  Sinclair." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  my  dear  father ;  but  I  **ancy  that,  if  I 
were  a  warrior,  I  should  be  very  grateful  to  the  enemy  whc 
should  build  a  fortress,  and  fill  it  with  cannon,  store  it  with 
guns,  and  powder  and  shot,  and  all  the  munitionc  of  war  —  make 
ready  his  defences,  line  his  walls,  hang  out  his  banners,  show  A 
brave  front  —  yet  run  off  and  leave  his  fortress  and.  all  his  muni 
tions  the  moment  I  came  against  him." 

"  Hern  !  I  tell  you,  Carrie,  the  subject  is  entirely  beyond 
your  comprehension." 

"  Very  likely,  sir.  Your  explanations  certainly  tend  to  make 
it  so.  But  I  can  see  that  there  is  a  subtlety  somewhere,  a»tid  I 
begin  now  to  suspect  that,  wlien  Lincoln  surrendered  Charles 
ton  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  he  was  only  executing  a.  grand  stroke 
of  policy  —  getting  the  whole  British  army  iii'o  °  trap,  in  order 
to  cut  'em  all  off  at  a  blow.  And  the  -ngn*-  r<i'3  tending  th-s/; 
way  apparently.  But,  this  being  the  case,  i*  it  altogether 
proper  policy  for  us  to  go  to  that  city,  where  we  shal'  be  ae  so 
many  poor  little  mice  in  a  baited  cage,  fattening  up  for  501113 
great  mouser  of  rebellion  ?  Were  it  were  not  wiser  policy  fci 
us  to  turn  aside,  and  either  go  back  to  the  barony,  or  cross  the 
Santee  into  a  country  where,  just  now,  the  rebels  permit  no 
cages  to  be  built  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !  you  are  a  fool,  girl,  and  don't  know  what  you  are 
talking  about !  At  all  events,  it  is  quite  as  absurd  for  us  to  be 
discussing  here  the  strategics  of  British  generalship.  Still  more 
absurd  to  be  beguiled  into  such  a  discussion  because  of  the  en 
counter  with  certain  dirty  blackguards,  who  carry  rifles  and 
shot-guns,  and  pretend  to  be  military,  and  impudently  dream  of 
such  a  thing  as  liberty.  Liberty  is  indeed  a  goddess,  and  she 
admits  no  rapscallions  to  her  altars.'' 


THE    BARON    TAKES    FLIGHT.  295 

iVell,  my  father,  I  learn  for  the  first  time  from  you  that  the 
•&3iA>rm  makes  the  soldier." 

'•  Who  said  any  such  nonsense  ?" 
"  7.  musv  infer  it  from  what  you  say." 

And  -hat  nonsense  have  I  spoken  to  justify  any  such  infer- 
3n:,e  ?  I  i,ell  you,  girl,  the  subject  is  one  only  to  be  discussed 
i/y  men.  It  is  beyond  you.  You  are  only  repeating  at  seconri 
.and  the  absurdities  which  you  have  heard  from  that  ridicu 
lously  conceited  and  obstinate  brother  of  yours,  who  will  get 
himself  knocked  on  the  head,  or  hung,  when  he  is  most  top- 
heavy  in  feather." 

"  Ah.  no  !  Leave  Willie  Sinclair  to  take  care  of  himself. 
He  is  a  soldier,  father,  and  a  brave  fellow  to  boot." 

"  He  might  have  been,  in  a  regular  and  honorable  service ; 
but,  with  such  rascally  fellows  as  these — " 

"  Stop,  my  dear  father.  The  proverb  says,  '  Never  curse  the 
bridge  that  carries  you  over.'  In  the  spirit  of  the  proverb,  let 
mo  say,  never  curse  those  who  forbear  to  trouble  you  when 
they  might ;  who  have  the  power  to  harm,  when  you  can  not 
resist,  and  who  deny  themselves  the  opportunity  to  do  so.  and 
at  a  period  when  there  are  few  securities  for  life  and  property, 
when  opportunity  invites  the  marauder." 

"  Ha !  let  the  rascals  attempt  it.  I  carry  a  brace  of  Kves 
here,"  showing  his  pistols  —  "and  I  can  still  wield  a  rapier, 
my  girl,  in  defence  of  my  children  and  my  honor.  —  But — "  a 
moment  after  —  "But  you  are  right,  Carrie ;  the  fellows  were 
civil  and  forbearing,  and  we  should  be  thankful.  I  confess  to 
have  forgotten  for  the  moment  my  religion  in  my  loyalty.  The 
fellows  might  have  done  us  harm,  and  were  civil ;  and  I — I  — 
with  this  miserable  game  leg  of  mine  to  be  talking  of  what  I 
could  do  in  a  struggle.  I  am  as  great  a  braggadocio  as  Benny 
Bowlegs.  Ah  !  that  twinge  was  a  proper  penalty  for  my  lack 
of  Christian  patience  and  humility.  Still,  my  dear  girl,  these 
fellows,  though  they  may  be  civil  —  and  have  some  notion  of 
order,  are  not  soldiers,  by  any  means  —  never  will  be  soi- 
die.rs.  It  is  not  in  them.  Soldiers,  forsooth  !  The  awkward. 
ungainly,  sprawling,  lanksided,  listless  caterans.  Ah !  my 
child,  you  should  see  a  British  army  in  all  its  grandeur — its 
thousands  in  line  or  column,  glorious  in  costume  —  in  crimson 


296  EUTAW. 

and  gold  and  green  —  its  great  banners  streaming  tj    de  wind 

—  its  gorgeous  panoply  —  glittering  steel  and  goldai:  gonfalon  ! 

—  its  serried    ranks  of  bayonets  —  its   charging  battalions  of 
horse  ! — What  can  such  ragamuffins  hope,  when  opposed  to  her 
formidable  legions^?" 

"  Why,  dear  father,  will  you  be  so  blind  and  so  unjus'; !  Did 
'not  just  such  people  as  these  constitute  your  provincial  regi 
ments  in  the  old  French  war  ?  and  did  they  not  save  the  rem 
nant  of  Braddock's  regulars,  when  they  fled  in  a  panic  which 
would  have  disgraced  the  vilest  poltroons  upon  earth  ?  And 
did  not  Middleton's  provincials  do  the  same  good  turn  for  Grant's 
regulars  among  the  Cherokees  ?  and  was  it  not  for  this  very 
sort  of  disparagement  that  Middleton  cudgelled  Grant,  himself, 
in  the  streets  of  Charleston  ?" 

"  And  you  would  have  me  cudgelled  too,  I  suppose,  as  we'J 
as  Grant,  for  being  so  free  spoken  of  your  favorites." 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  would  have  you  just  /" 

"  You  are  right  in  that,  Carrie.  To  be  just  always  should  be 
the  highest  ambition  of  a  gentleman.  To  be  unjust,  in  however 
small  a  matter,  and  in  reference  to  however  small  a  person,  is 
always  a  meanness.  I  would  not  willingly  be  unjust ;  but  Car 
rie  when  in  addition  to  a  disloyal  son,  and  the  devil,  who  is 
every  man's  double,  I  have  another  ever-present  enemy  in  the 
gout,  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  I  occasionally  err  against  my 
own  principles,  and  my  own  desires.  Say  no  more.  The  colo 
nists  can  fight — can  make  good  soldiers,  spite  of  the  uniforms 

—  in/,  I  will  admit  the  possibility  —  can  be  successful  rebels! 
I  begin  to  confess  a  fear  to  myself,  daily,  that  they  will  become 
so ;   and  if  so,  Carrie,  I  will  admit  further,  it  is  because  they 
have  not  had  justice.     Where,  for  example,  was  the  necessity 
of  their  sending  us  such  a  general  as  Edward  Braddock,  when 
there  was   such  a  military  buckskin  in  the  country  as  George 
Washington  ?   and  why  give  us  such  impertinent  puppies  as 
Grant,  when  the  country  could  produce  natives  like  Moultrie, 
and  Marion,  and  Sumter,  and  Middleton,  and   a  thousand  be 
sides,  who  were  worth   a  thousand  such   popinjays.      Rebels, 
though  these  men  be,  they  are  nevertheless  able  and  skilful 
rebels,  and  brave  and  audacious  rebels  —  and  like  to  be,  T  fear> 
successful  rebels;  and  they  have  been  made  rebels,  in  too  many 


THE   BARON    TAKES   FLIGHT.  297 

cases,  I  fancy,  by  the  cruel  injustice  which  denied  them  tha 
right  authority  among  their  people  !  I  have  said  this  very  thing 
to  Earl  Cornwallis,  to  my  Lord  Rawdon,  and  to  many  others ; 
though,  you  are  not  to  understand  me  as  admitting,  for  a  mo 
ment,  that  their  rebellion  is  justified  became  of  the  injustice 
which  might  have  provoked  it.  Their  loyalty  should  have  been 
superior  to  self." 

"  And  the  prince  that  challenged  that  loyalty  should  have 
been  superior  to  self  too,  and  superior  to  fraud  and  wrong,  my 
father/* 

"What  fraud  —  what  wrong,  and  —  but  who  is  here?  Your 
wild  girl,  Nelly,  as  I  live,  Carrie,  and  her  eternal  little  light- 
footed  pony." 

Sare  enough,  in  the  midst  of  the  political  conference  between 
father  and  daughter,  £Telly  Floyd  wintered  tip  suddenly  beside 
the  carriage. 

"  Why,  Nelly,  in  it  you  Vs  sail  Carrie. 

"  Well,  my  girl,  how  i:  Ct '  '. .  am  glad  to  see  you  well  ag'ain 
as  ever,"  was  the  good-numored  address  of  the  baron,  while 
little  Lottie,  in  silence  possessed  herself  of  the  hand  of  Nelly, 
which,  at  the  stopping  of  the  coach,  was  thrust  in  at  the 
windows. 

"  Oh  !  well,  sir,  I  thank  you.  I  scarcely  feel  the  hurt  at  all 
now.  And  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you  are  able  to  travel,  sir." 

"  Able  to  travel.  Able  to  fly,  you  mean  !  I  am  able  to  en 
dure  a  travelling  horse,  my  girl,  but  that's  all.  I'm  able  for  nc 
more." 

"  And  you,  dear  Miss  Carrie  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I'm  quite  well,  Nelly.  I  haven't  tin.e  to  be  otherwise. 
My  father'  does  all  my  sickness,  and  Lottie  does  all  my  play ; 
so,  between-the  two.  I'm  relieved  of  almost  all  cf  the  usual  caree 
of  girlhood." 

"  And  you  might  add  womanhood  too,  while  in  the  satirical 
vein,  for  the  description  will  suit  half  the  sex,  even  though 
you  leave  out  the  children  entirely.  But  where  are  you  from 
rny  girl  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  disquiet  the  girl,  though  not  to  con- 
fuse  te.r.  But  she  answered  promptly  enough. 

"  Oh  !  not  far,  sir  ;  I  haven't  had  to  ride  any  distance  to-day.' 

13* 


298  EUTAW. 

"Egad,  I  suspect  you  are  half  the  time  on  the  road/' 

He  was  really  moderate  in  his  estimate. 

"I  love  to  ride,  sir,"  answered  the  girl  evasively — "and 
Aggy  never  tiros,  sir." 

"  She's  Virginq0  all  over  then,  according  to  the  old  song. 
But  where  are  you  bound  now  ?" 

"  Nowhere,  sir,  exactly.     Just  riding  about." 

"  By  my  faith,  you  love  it  with  a  strange  passion.  You  take 
the  road  without  fear  of  those  refugee  rascals  that  seem  to  be 
everywhere,  and  from  whom  your  escape  has  been  so  narrow 
already.  Are  you  not  afraid,  my  girl  VJ 

"  Oh  !   no,  sir  ;  not  afraid." 

"  But  seriously,  my  young  girl,  you  have  good  reason  to  ba 
cautious,  and  afraid  too." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  very  cautious,  sir.5' 

"  Well,  but  look  you,  my  good  little  girl,  a  yonng  creators 
like  you,  and  of  your  sex  too,  has  reason  to  be  something  more 
than  cautious  in  respect  to  tn*.  -&  ing  the  highways,  alone,  at 
such  a  time  as  this.  You  are  doing  wjong.  I  must  scold  you 
Do  you  know  your  weakneso.  .?o  you  know  what  your  ssx 
calls  for  —  what  it  imperatively  demands.  Gome,  come,  don't 
be  skittish  now,"  seeing  a  restiffness  in  the  girl's  manner,  and 
a  twitching  of  her  bridle  which  augured  a  hasty  flight — "  come, 
you  must  listen  to  your  friends.  We  must  stop  this  wild  an  3 
perilous  game  which  you  are  playing.  You  do  not  guess — do 
not  dream  —  how  great  is  the  peril"  —  here  the  looks  of  tha 
baron  were  full  of  awful  significance  —  "you  will  be  lost  before 
you  know  where  you  are." 

The  girl  smiled,  as  she  answered : — 

'  •'  Ah,  sir  !  I  know  the  woods  too  well.     You  couldn't  lose  me 
in  any  forest,  between  the  Santee  and  the  Savannah.     I  know 
the  woods,  sir,  as  the  mariner  knows  the  sea !" 
She  had  interpreted  his  speech  literally. 
"The  simple  innocent!"  muttered  the  baron.     Then,  aloud: 
"You  do  not  understand  me.     You  are  exposed  to  dangers  — 
dangers,  I  say  —  of  which  you  do  not  guess!     That's  what  I 
moan.*  Horrible  dangers  —  shameful  dangers  —  distressing  dan 
gers —  dangers,  my  girl,  worse  than  any  death." 
"  Oh  !   I  don't  think  so,  sir." 


THE   BARON   TAKES    FLIGHT.  298 

'  But  you  must  let  your  friends  think  for  you.  Come  now 
there's  nothing  to  keep  you  here.  Keep  on  with  us,  and  when 
we  get  to  Monck's  Corner,  I  will  make  arrangements  for  getting 
you  a  vehicle,  when  you  can  travel  more  honorably  and  agree 
ably.  Come,  go  with  my  daughter  to  Charleston,  and  live  with 
us,  as  one  of  my  family.  I  like  you,  my  good  girl  —  like  you 
very  much,  and  so  does  Carrie;  and  you  must  go  and  live 
with  us." 

Carrie  warmly  seconded  the  entreaties  of  her  father.  But, 
the  girl  shook  her  head  in  denial  —  somewhat  sadly,  however. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  I  can  not  now.  I  have  much  serious 
matter  to  keep  me  here,  and  keep  me  watchful.  And,  I  am 
very  cautious,  sir,  and  very  careful ;  and  risk  nothing  which  is 
avoidable.  I  know  there  are  dangers,  but  I  also  know  where 
they  lie  —  from  what  quarter  they  threaten,  and  how  to  escape 
them." 

"  If  you  do,  then,  by  Jupiter,  you  are  a  d d  sight  wiser 

than  most  of  the  graybeards  that  I  know,  of  either  of  the  sexes. 
But  what  serious  matters  can  you  have  —  a  mere  girl  —  what 
troubles  —  that  should  render  necessary  any  exposure?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  where  do  you  learn  that  youth  is  exempt  from  care 
and  trouble  —  that  age  only  has  the  privilege  of  care?" 
.  "By  my  faith,  a  searching  question!"  exclaimed  the  baron, 
as  he  looked  up  in  wonder.  "  The  privilege  of  care  !  Girl,  you 
are  a  mystery  to  me.  That  is  said  with  great  profundity  or 
great  simplicity,  and  I  can  not  say  which.  Care  is,  doubtlessly, 
the  grandest  of  human  privileges.  It  makes  all  the  difference 
between  man  and  other  animals.  But  men  rarely  rise  to  a  sense 
of  it  as  a  privilege,  or  as  grateful  in  any  way,  and  women  still 
more  rarely.  If  you,  a  girl,  are  able  to  do  so — but  no  ! — "  and 
the  baron  muttered  to  himself — -"  no  !  it  was  but  a  random  shaft 
of  speech." 

He  was  confirmed  in  this  notion  as  he  looked  at  the  features 
of  the  girl.  She  was  surveying  him,  hearkening  to  his  comment 
—  which  was  half  a  soliloquy  —  with  a  look  of  the  utmost  sim 
plicity,  as  if  totally  unconscious  of  anything  in  her  own  remark 
which  was  calculated  to  provoke  surprise.  Our  baron  might 
even  have  fancied  her  deficient  in  ordinary  intelligence,  judging 
from  the  quiet  indifference  of  her  expression,  but  that  the  eves. 


,SOO  EUTAW. 

the  mouth,  .".ad  the  whole  face,  had  in  them  so  much  of  soul  as 
well  as  sweetness  ;  as  if  Thought  were  there,  but  stripped  of  all 
support  of  the  passions ;  as  if  the  intelligence  were  of  a  sort  to 
secure  the  possessor  from  all  disturbing  influences  of  earth. 
While  the  look  exhibited  the  utmost  unconsciousness  of  what 
v/jjs  the  force  in  her  remark,  it  was  yet  so  expressive,  in  general 
respects  —  so  full  of  frankness,  and  ingenuous  grace,  and  viva 
city  too  —  that  it  disarmed  every  doubt  of  the  capacity  of  the 
intellect  which  informed  it.  And  yet  the  whole  matter  was  a 
problem  :  the  girl,  though  totally  free  from  mystery  in  her  man 
ner,  was  yet  evidently  a  mystery  to  all  who  beheld  her,  or  lis 
tened  to  her  voice. 

When  our  baron  stopped  in  his  speech,  Nelly  seemed  to  wait, 
as  if  expecting  that  he  would  resume  it ;  but,  as  he  did  not,  she 
again  spoke. 

"  You  warn  me  of  danger,  Colonel  Sinclair,  while  you  your 
self  are  going  into  it." 

"Me!" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  oh,  it  is  pitiful  to  carry  your  daughters  to 
where  they  may  see  human  blood  running  like  water !" 

"How!  human  blood,  Nelly!"  cried  Carrie  Sinclair;  "of 
what  do  you  speak  ?  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"You  are  on  your  way  to  Charleston.  You  are  going  by 
Mouck's  Corner ;  but  there  the  soldiers  are  gathering  —  the  sol 
diers  of  both  sides.  Even  now,  Sumter,  whom  they  call  the 
Gamecock,  and  who  deserves  the  title,  is  hurrying  down  to  that 
very  place ;  and.  Marion  is  there ;  and  a  whole  host  besides. 
Did  you  not  see  Marion's  men  pass  you  —  three  squads,  all  with 
sprigs  of  cedar  in  their  caps  ]  The  horn  has  been  sounded, 
calling  'em  up,  all  the  way  to  the  South  Edisto.  All  the  scouts 
and  forayers  are  going  in;  and  they  are  driving  everything  be- 
lore  them.  The  British  have  no  horse,  and  all  of  these  are 
horsemen  ;  and  they  aim  to  destroy  the  British  posts  at  Monck's 
Corner,  and  Wantoot,  and  Fairlawn,  and  all  about  the  Cooper 
river  country." 

"And  how  know  you  all  this,  my  girl?" 

"  Oh,  I  see  and  hear !  I  tell  you  it  is  so,  believe  me.  Ma- 
lion  and  Sumter  are  both  there,  and  they  have  a  thousand  m  in, 
<md  more  are  coming  in;  for  the  corn-harvest  is  over,  and  the 


THE    BARON   TAKES    FLIGHT.  oOl 

indigo  is  made,  and  every  farmer  is  now  able,  if  he  is  willing,  to 
take  the  field." 

"  Pshaw,  Nelly  !  they  can  never  raise  a  thousand  men  in  that 
quarter,  and  at  this  season  of  the  year." 

"Oh,  dear  sir  —  Colonel  Sinclair  —  but,  in  truth,  you  must 
oelieve  me!  For  all  that  I  tell  you  is  true  —  sure." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  And  do  you  not  know  that  there  is  a  Brit 
ish  regiment  at  Monck's  Corner,  my  girl  —  a  British  regiment  — 
full,  fresh,  and  commanded  by  as  brave  a  colonel  as  heads  any 
army  regiment  at  this  moment  in  America  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  :  the  British  have  almost  a  thousand  men  also. 
But  they  have  only  a  few  horse  —  nothing  to  the  men  of  Marion 
and  Sumter — " 

"  Pooh,  Nelly,  my  girl !  Five  hundred  British  regulars,  with 
bright  bayonets,  are  equal  to  a  thousand,  ay,  five  thousand  mili 
tia,  at  any  time." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  sir  V  answered  the  girl,  with  a  simplicity 
that  seemed  to  bother  the  colonel.  He  laughed  good-humoredly, 
however,  and  said  : — 

"  Well,  Nelly,  as  you  put  it  to  me  so  closely,  I  confess  I  do 
not  exactly  think  so ;  but  if  five  hundred  British  regulars  are 
not  equal  to  any  thousand  of  Marion's  ragamuffins,  then  I'll 
never  sing  '  Rule  Britannia'  again." 

"Your  son  is  one  of  Marion's  men,  colonel:  do  you  think 
him  only  half  as  good  as  a  British  dragoon  ?"  asked  Nelly,  as 
if  seeking  the  solution  of  a  difficulty.  He  gazed  at  her  vacantly 
a  moment,  then  said,  with  a  sort  of  roar : — 

"  By  the  powers,  girl,  if  Willie  Sinclair  is  not  equal  to  any 
colonel  jf  dragoons  in  the  British  army,  I'll  —  I'll  —  I'll  —  turn 
rebel  myself!" 

"  /  think  he  is,  colonel ;  and  I  tell  you  that  Marion  and  Sum 
ter  have  a  great  many  brave  and  powerful  soldiers  like  Colonel 
Sinclair." 

•'Like  me?" 

"No.  sir — like  your  son." 

"  But  he's  only  a  major." 

"  Oh,  you  hav'n  t  heard !      He's  promoted.     He's  made  »» 

by  Governor  Rutledge  himself;  and — " 
,-y  Jupiter,  promotion  seems  a  rapid  thing  in  this  rebel  ser- 


302  EUTAW. 

vice  !  1  did  not  get  a  colonelcy  before  fifty,  and  then  I  had  to 
raise  my  own  regiment." 

"  So  much  in  favor  of  the  rebel  service.  The  natives*  havo 
some  chance  in  that,"  slyly  put  in  Carrie  Sinclair. 

"  Yes,  and  the  difference  must  tell  in  every  way,"  answered 
the  veteran,  with  a  gloomy  shake  of  the  head.  "A  system," 
he  continued,  "  which  encourages  the  young,  is  not  only  likely 
to  seduce  thousands  to  its  flag,  but  is  also  as  likely  to  develop 
the  genius  and  ability  of  many  who  will  prove  superior  to  any 
course  of  training.  But,  Nelly,  my  good  girl,  while  I  thank 
you  for  your  information,  and  believe  much  of  it  to  be  true,  I  can 
not  fear  for  the  result  when  the  forces  are  so  nearly  equal.  If 
Coates  has  a  regiment  of  five  hundred  men,  and  half  as  many 
horse,  he  can  not  be  driven  from  his  post." 

"He  will  retreat,  sir;  he  will  —  I  know  it." 

"  Five  hundred  British  bayonets,  opposed  to  a  thousand  clod 
hoppers,  never  retreat." 

"  They  will,  sir  —  they  will !  Marion's  men  can  shoot,  sir,  as 
no  European  can  shoot." 

"  Ay,  my  girl,  but  will  a  British  officer  stop  at  shooting, 
when  it  requires  but  a  word,  '•Charge!'  —  and  where  are  the 
militiamen  to  withstand  the  shock  of  British  steel  ?" 

"They  will  fly  —  the  British  —  nevertheless,"  said  the  girl, 
pertinaciously. 

"  Never  !     I  fear  nothing.     I  must  go  on." 

"  Oh  !  do  not,  sir  —  do  not;  for  what  1  tell. you  is  the  truth. 
They  will  retreat.  The  British  soldiers  have  lost  their  confi 
dence.  Their  horse  can  not  stand  the  cavalry  of  Marion  and 
Suinter.  Your  own  son  is  a  far  better  dragoon  than  any  in  the 
British  service.  And  oh,  sir,  even  if  this  be  not  true  —  even  if 
the  British  keep  their  ground  —  would  you  carry  your  daugh 
ters  to  the  place  of  slaughter  ?  For  there  will  be  blood,  sir  — • 
there  will  be  a  fearful  strife,  and  much  blood  will  be  spill 
Why  should  they  be  spectators  of  it7  T*;.m  ba:-k,  air,  *,o  your 
plantation.  There  is  no  war  there." 

"  But  how  long  will  it  be  so  ]  I  hwe  the  opmir.n  of  Lord 
Rawdon  hiiDwfclf,  and  my  son  noth,  counselling  rr.e  to  leave.' 

"Go,  then,  over  the  S<i;tee.     Seek  the  ima  -L'  :>:ry." 

"  Oh,  do.  my  father  !"  e:r,ieated  Car r  13 


THE  BARON  TAKES   PLIGHT. 

"  What  are  you  so  scary  too  ?  No,  no,  Carrie  !  Never  shall 
it  he  said  that  I  turned  hack,  having  once  set  my  hand  upon 
the  plough.  I  go  on,  and  have  no  fear  but  that  Colonel  Coates 
can  give  me  shelter  at  Monck's  Corner  till  I  can  see  iny  way  to 
Charleston.  I  have  spoken.  Once  more,  Nelly,  my  girl,  will 
you  go  with  us,  and  he  one  of  our  family  ?  You  see  us  as  we 
are.  I  am  a  rough  old  bear,  at  best ;  and,  when  the  gout  is  on 
me,  I  am  a  hyena.  Beware  of  me  then.  Otherwise,  you  have 
no  cause  of  fear.  For  cause  of  love,  iny  girl,  I  refer  you  to 
Carrie  and  little  Lottie." 

"  Oh,  do  go  with  us,  Nelly !"  said  Carrie. 

"  Impossible,  dear  Miss  Sinclair;  but,  though  I  refuse,  my 
heart  is  full  of  gratitude.  But  I  can  not  go  with  you,  I  have 
much  that  demands  my  constant  care  and  attention.  Hist  you, 
a  moment ! — "  and,  as  Carrie  leaned  her  ear  out  of  the  window 
of  the  carriage,  she  whispered : — 

"  Oh,  Miss  Sinclair,  I  have  found  him — my  brother  !  Alas  ! 
I  find  him  again  in  bad  company,  and  I'm  trying,  when  I  can 
get  a  chance,  to  win  him  away  from  it ;  for  I  see  the  terrible 
fate  that  awaits  him,  though  he  does  not,  and  he  will  not  believe 
me.  Oh,  he  is  so  foolish,  so  perverse!  but  I  still  hope — hope 
—  hope  !  I  can  hardly  do  anything  else  but  hope." 

"  How  I  could  wish  that  I  could  help  you !  Will  money  be 
of  any  use  ?" 

This  was  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  No,  no  !  I  thank  you ;  but  it  is  not  money  that  will  serve 
me  here." 

The  baron  began  to  grow  impatient. 

"  We  must  drive  on,  my  girl.  Once  more,  will  you  go  with 
us,  and  be  one  of  our  family  ?" 

"I  thank  you,  sir  —  I  can  not  say  how  much  I  thank  you, 
but  this  is  impossible.  I  have  duties  here,  sir,  that  make  it 
impossible." 

"  Duties  !"  Then,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  he  cried, 
"  But  where  do  you  live,  Nellie  —  with  whom  ?" 

11  Me  ?  oh,  I  live  everywhere  —  here  !"  And  she  waved  her 
hand  out,  as  if  over  the  forest. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  lodge  and  sleep  in  the 
woods?" 


.304  BUT  AW. 

*'  When  T  can  do  no  better." 

"  Good  Heavens,  my  girl,  you  must  go  with  us  !  Sleep  in  the 
woods  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  a  pleasant  couch  it  affords  when  the  weather 
is  so  mild  and  fine  as  this,  and  when  there  is  no  rain.5" 

*  But  the  snakes,  my  girl  —  the  wolves  !" 

"  They  never  trouble  me." 

The  fact  was  a  curious  one,  and  to  be  remembered  in  connec 
tion  with  what  else  is  singular  in  the  history  of  this  damsel.  As 
old  Mother  Ford  was  wont  to  say,  long  afterward,  to  Carrie  Sin 
clair  and  others : — 

"  T  have  known  her  sleep  within  three  feet  of  a  rattlesnake's 
hole  in  midsummer ;  and  I  have  come  upon  her  at  early  sunrise, 
while  she  has  been  sleeping  there,  and  I  have  seen  with  my 
own  eyes  a  monstrous  rattlesnake  creep  all  round  her  going 
into  his  hole,  and  never  offering  to  trouble  her.  I  do  believo 
that  she  had  a  power  to  charm  the  beasts." 

To  resume : — 

"But,  my  good  girl,  such  a  life,  such  exposure  —  and  to  a 
young  and  delicate  creature  like  yourself!  Why,  you  are 
slighter  than  my  Carrie." 

"  Oh,  sir,  but  I  am  very  strong,  and  T  sleep  on  a  hard  bed 
much  better  than  on  a  soft  one;  and  the  woods  shelter  me 
kindly,  and  the  heavens  cover  me,  and  the  eye  of  God  is  over 
all,  and  I  have  no  fear,  somehow ;  and  it  is  only  in  our  fears,  I 
believe,  that  Nature  is  e.ver  terrible." 

And,  as  she  spoke  these  words,  she  turned  half  about  upon 
the  saddle  of  her  pony,  and  her  hand  was  waved  toward  the 
woods,  and  toward  heaven ;  and  the  confidence  that  glowed  in 
all  her  features  was  absolutely  spiritual,  while  the  action  was 
that  of  a  perfect  grace.  And,  in  the  thoughts  of  Carrie  and  her 
father  both,  she  seemed  even  to  grow  beautiful — her  eye  kin 
dling  as  if  rapt,  her  cheek  glowing,  and  her  hand  waving  with 
an  air  so  nobly  graceful.  Very  strange  and  wondrous  winning 
did  she  seem,  certainly,  as  she  sat  her  horse,  like  a  damsel  of 
Mexico,  her  costume  half  in  the  picturesque  fashion  of  the 
Turkish  sultana,  while  her  head  was  surmounted  with  a  straw 
sombrero,  from  beneath  which  her  hair  in  mass,  clipped  tolera 
bly  short,  fell  down  upon  her  shoulders. 


THE   BARON   TAKES    FLIGHT.  806 

"  Come  with  us,  girl !"  cried  the  veteran,  with  an  almost  Bav 
age  look  of  authority. 

"  Do,  do  come  with  us,  Nelly !"  cried  Carrie,  while  the  tears 
rose  into  her  eyes. 

"  Thanks,  thanks  !  But  no  !  my  necessity  lies  here,  and  1 
must  go  to  vliat.  But  oh,  may  God's  blessing  cover  you  as  with 
a  mantle,  and  his  love  gladden  you,  wherever  you  go,  with  al'. 
the  blossoms  of  the  spring  !" 

And,  hastily  lifting  the  hand  of  Carrie  Sinclair  to  her  lips, 
she  kissed  it,  flun^  it  from  her  as  if  passionately,  and  putting 
spurs  to  her  pony,  darted  away  like  ait  arrow  from  the  bow 


806  uJUTAW. 


UNIVERSIT 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

IHb    *URAY    OF    THE    PARTISANS. 

••  Is  she  gone  ?"  demanded  the  veteran,  half  striving  to  raise 
himself  from  his  cushions  and  look  forth. 

"  Yes  —  already  out  of  sight." 

"  Heavens  !  what  a  creature  !  So  strange,  so  wild,  so  inscru 
table,  and  yet  so  sweet  and  gentle.  And  to  think  that  she 
wanders  about  these  woods  —  without  a  protector  —  half  the 
time  without  a  shelter.  But  can  we  believe  that,  Carrie  ]  Is  it 
possible  1" 

"  1  do  not  doubt  it.  What  we  have  seen  of  her,  leads  me  to 
think  her  perfectly  truthful.  And  what  we  have  heard  from 
others  would  seem  to  confirm  the  statement." 

''But  is  there  not  some  touch  of  insanity  about  her  ?  I  have 
had  the  impression,  more  than  once,  while  talking  with  her." 

"  I  hardly  think  so,  now.  At  first,  when  she  was  brought  to 
the  barony,  I  was  startled  at  much  that  was  strange  and  un 
usual  in  her  words  and  conduct;  but  I  soon  found  that  this 
arose  simply  from  her  being  so  utterly  unsophisticated.  I  found, 
upon  examination,  that  all  she  said  and  did,  however  uncommon 
in  society,  was  in  perfect  sympathy  with  humanity,  and  the 
most  natural  lav/s  of  thought.  She  is  evidently  a  strangely-gifted 
being,  who  as  certainly  knows  little  or  nothing  of  her  own  gifts. 
She  is  entirely  without  pretension." 

•'  I  am  loath  to  leave  her  in  these  woods.  I'm  afraid,  Oarrla 
we  were  not  sufficiently  urgent  in  the  attempt  to  persuade  her 
to  go  with  us.  Hark  ye,  Little  Peter,  ride  after  that  young 
•voinan,  and  beg  her  to  come  back  for  a  moment," 

"  Ki,  maussa  !"  exclaimed   Peter,  almost  aghast,  "you  'speck 


THE   FORAY   OF  THE   PARTISANS.  30 

me  for  catch  Harricane  Nell — -me,  on  clis  great  bony  critter,  ano 
Nelly  on  de  pony  who's  got  wing  to  he  foot  ?" 

"  Harricane  Nell !     What  the  d — 1  does  he  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  It  is  her  nickname,  it  appears,  among  those  who  know  hei 
intimately." 

"  And  why  do  they  call  her  so  ?  Is  she  passionate  or  quar 
relsome  ?" 

"  No !  Only,  I  suspect,  because  she  is  as  impulsive  as  the 
wind,  going  and  coming  as  she  listeth,  and  without  any  pre 
monition." 

"Well,  sirrah!"  to  Little  Peter,  "can't  you  overtake  her 
easily,  on  that  great  long-legged  animal  you  bestride  ?" 

"  Lor'  bless  you  inaussa,  'tain't  in  beas'  like  dis  to  catch  dat 
swallow  ob  a  boss  dat  Harricane  Nelly  is  a  riding.  Why, 
inaussa,  dat  little  critter  goes  like  a  streak,  and  nebber  leffs  de 
track  bchin'  'em  !  Dar's  no  catching  de  gal,  onless  she's  willing 
for  le'  you  catch  'em." 

"  Well,  we've  no  time  for  a  chase  !  Drive  on,  Sam.  Yet  I 
would  cheerfully  give  a  hundred  guineas  down,  to  be  sure  that 
she  should  be  in  good  keeping,  and  under  a  good  roof  hence 
forward.  Certainly,  a  most  interesting  creature !  And  as 
graceful  and  gentle  as  she  is  strange  and  wild !  What  a  singular 
.nion,  Carrie,  of  masculine  courage  and  directness,  with  girlish 
simplicity  and  modesty  !  And  this  union  appears  equally  in 
form  and  figure,  face  and  expression,  as  in  action.  What  a 
spiritual  look  her  eye  gives  forth  —  so  meek,  yet  so  wild  —  so 
simple,  yet  so  positive  and  searching.  And  she  talks  well  — 
wonderfully  well !  Where  did  she  pick  it  up  1" 

Carrie  reminded  him  that  Nelly  had  been  the  protege  of 
Lady  Nelson. 

"  True,  and  that  will  account  for  the  propriety  of  her  Ian 
guage  ;  but  not  for  tone  and  tenor.  Books  and  schooling  afford 
neither  of  these ;  they  are  native.  She  drinks  them  from  skies 
and  zephyrs,  and  natural  fountains  in  the  woods.  She  —  but 
why  the  devil,  Sam,  don't  you  drive  on?  What  are  you 
dreaming  about,  man  V 

Sam  had  been  actually  drowsing. 

"  I  jes'  been  wait  for  you  done  talk,  maussa,"  he  answered 
confusedly,  rousing  himself  with  a  start. 


808  EUTAW. 

"  Oh  ?  and  you  fancy  yourself  bound  to  listen  to  what  I  saj 
eh  ?  I  am  talking  for  your  special  benefit,  am  1 1  Or  do  you 
suppose,  my  good  fellow,  that  the  motion  of  my  tongue  will 
stop  when  your  nags  begin  theirs  ?  Put  the  whip  to  them,  you 
drowsy  old  rascal,  or  I'll  stop  the  first  scouting  ragamuffins  of 
Marion  I  see,  and  beg  them  to  take  your  scalp  off,  and  the  ears 
along  with  it !  Whip  up,  I  say  !  We  are  wasting  more  sun 
shine  than  you  ever  swallowed  in  all  your  sleeps." 

And  Sam  whipped  up  his  horses,  and  the  progress  was  re 
sumed  ;  the  lumbering  coach  of  state  wheeling  slowly  forward, 
along  the  monotonous  route,  through  a  gloomy  range  of  silent 
thicket;  and,  for  the  present,  bearing  our  veteran  baron  and 
his  fair  daughters  from  our  sight. 

Leaving  them  to  this  progress,  with  all  its  uncertainties,  we 
must  bestow  our  attention  now,  upon  other  parties  to  our  drama, 
from  whom  it  has  been  somewhat  too  long  withheld. 

Up  to  this  period  the  disorderly  groups  at  Griffith's,  and  the 
frequent  appearance  of  doubtful  squads,  have  kept  Mrs.  Travis 
and  Bertha  still  the  guests  of  the  excellent  widow,  Avinger. 
But  'Bram,  who  has  been  constant  upon  his  watch,  ac  length 
reports  the  wigwam  of  Griffith  to  be  closed.  There  arc  no 
more  loiterers  to  be  seen.  Next,  he  hears  of  the  passage  down 
ward  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  and  his  escort,  and,  finally, 
he  picks  up  the  intelligence  of  the  passage,  also,  of  his  own 
master's  father,  the  lordly  baron  of  Sinclair,  in  his  coach  of 
state,  with  the  young  ladies,  and  without  any  escort.  The 
augury  is  such  as  to  encourage  him  in  the  opinion,  that  the  party 
may  resume  their  own  journey  without  any  impediment.  He 
wastes  no  time  in  communicating  his  opinions,  first,  and  his 
facts  afterward,  to  the  ladies  themselves,  and  they  eagerly 
snatch  at  the  opportunity  of  escaping  from  a  durance,  in  which, 
however  kindlily  they  have  been  entertained,  they  have  still 
felt  the  painful  constraint  and  uncertainty  of  their  situation. 
They  declare  their  purpose,  to  their  hostess  who  would  fain 
persuade  their  longer  stay.  She  refuses  all  tender  of  com 
pensation,  and  begs  to  see  them  again  as  friends,  should  fortune 
again  afford  them  the  opportunity  of  paying  her  a  visit.  They 
promise  her  cheerfully ;  and  after  the  warmest  and  most  proper 


THE  FORAY  OF  THE  PARTISANS.          809 

fashion,   they   declare    their   gratitude,    and   take   their  leave, 
carrying  with  them  the  widow's  blessing  on  their  way. 

Thus,  then,  in  this  most  capricious  history,  we  find  all  our 
parties  once  more  at  sea  —  that  is,  upon  the  road  —  the  world 
before  them,  and  'Brain  their  guide  in  the  absence  of  any  more 
imposing  personage.  He  travelled  as  outrider  —  keeping  a  good 
half  mile  ahead  of  the  carriage,  in  order  seasonably  to  prepare 
for 'the  approach  of  bad  company,  should  any  show  itself. 

Meanwhile,  what  of  Willie  Sinclair  and  his  brother-in-arins, 
Peyre  St.  Julicn  ?  We  are  not  to  suppose  them  idle  —  not  to 
suppose  that  they  have  suffered  any  diminution  of  interest  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  Travis  family.  But,  hitherto,  they  have 
been  singularly  fated  to  miss  all  the  clues  that  might  have  con 
ducted  to  the  secret  dens  of  Inglehardt,  and  the  temporary 
hiding-place  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  Ballon,  as  we  have  seen, 
has  been  working  his  way  into  the  precincts  of  the  one  set  of 
captives,  yet  has  been  bewildered  and  baffled  upon  the  very 
threshold  of  discovery.  We  have  seen  him  pursuing  the  trail 
of  Kelly  Floyd's  pony,  which,  in  this  particular  instance,  has 
really  carried  him  farther  from  his  game,  though  still  in  close 
proximity  with  those  who  had  ensnared  it.  During  this  time, 
Sinclair,  with  the  troop  of  St.  Julien,  has  been  scouting,  driving 
and  sometimes  fighting,  whenever  the  opportunity  has  been 
afforded  him :  first  along  the  Four-Holes,  then  crossing  its 
bridge,  and  alternately  in  concert  with  the  Hamptons  (Harry 
and  Wade),  Lee,  and  Taylor,  down  to  the  margin  of  Ashley 
river.  When  operating  with  either  of  these  leaders,  his  com 
mand  has  necessarily  been  subordinate.  To  report  their  progress, 
will,  accordingly  be,  in  some  degree,  to  exhibit  his  ;  since,  except 
on  occasions  when  he  was  tempted  to  turn  aside,  in  the  hopes 
of  finding  clues  to  his  fugitives  —  a  privilege  which  had  been 
secured  to  him  especially  by  Rutledge  —  he  found  it  equally  his 
duty  and  his  policy  to  avail  himself  of  such  oppcrtunties  of 
search,  as  their  progresses  might  afford;  and  here  :"t  occu.-:s,  as 
particularly  proper,  to  arrest  our  own  narrative  for  a  brief  space 
ir  order  the  better  to  exhibit  the  general  progress  of  the  foray 
in  this  section  of  the  country.  It  connects  very  naturally  vitfc 
the  .thread  of  our  story,  and  the  proper  comprehension  of  th? 
latter  may,  indeed,  somewhat  depend  upon  a  knowledge  of  tha 


310  EUTAW. 

events  in  the  progress  of  the  former.  We  shall  be  as  brief, 
however,  in  this  episode,  as  possible,  though  it  is  one  upoc 
which  we  might  well  be  tempted  to  dilate. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  on  the  withdrawal  of  Greene  and 
his  regulars  from  the  field,  during  the  dog-days,  to  the  salubrious 
ranges  of  the  hills  of  Santee,  it  was  assigned  to  Sumter,  having 
under  him  the  several  bodies  of  mounted  men  led  by  Marion, 
Lee,  the  Hamptons,  Taylor,  Maham,  Lacy,  and  other  well-known 
partisans,  to  make  an  incursion  into  the  lower  country,  striking 
at  the  enemy,  at  every  post  or  point  where  he  should  be  found, 
between  his  main  camp,  at  Orangeburg,  and  the  garrison  of 
Charleston ;  these  two  places  being  the  only  supposed  unas 
sailable  positions,  which  the  British  continued  to  hold.  We 
have  been  told,  already,  what  was  the  force  which  Sumter  com 
manded  in  this  foray,  and  how  distributed. 

It  happened,  unfortunately,  for  the  full  attainment  of  the 
objects  of  this  expedition,  that  Sumtea-  was,  in  some  degree, 
diverted  from  his  main  design,  by  the  receipt  of  intelligence, 
which  led  him  to  send  off  a  detachment  of  three  hundred  men, 
to  strike  at  a  reported  force  of  the  enemy  at  Murray's  ferry. 
The  intelligence  was  probably  correct  in  the  first  instance  ;  but, 
if  so,  the  British  had  left  the  place  before  Sumter's  detachment 
3ould  reach  it.  Some  time  was  lost  by  this  diversion  from  the 
main  object  of  the  expedition,  which  required  that  the  move 
ment  should  be  so  sudden  as  to  prevent  the  enemy  from  receiv 
ing  re-infbrcements  from  the  city,  or  withdrawing  to  its  securi 
ties.  The  result  was  to  baffle  one  of  the  chief  enterprises 
which  the  foray  contemplated.  But  of  this  hereafter.  We 
may  add,  however,  that  the  eccentric  movement  operated,  in 
some  degree,  upon  the  conduct  of  the  parties  to  our  story ; 
which,  but  for  this,  might  have  reached  other  conclusions,  an1 
at  an  earlier  date,  than  these  to  which  they  are  destined  now. 

Meanwhile,  however,  the  various  detached  parties  of  Sumter, 
striking  out  each  in  a  different  direction,  proceeded  with  zeal 
and  energy  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  tasks  assigned  them.  WhiL 
Sumter  himself  was  pursuing  the  Congaree  road  leading  down  to 
JIB  south  of  that  river,  and  toward  the  east  side  of  Cooper  river, 
Lee  with  his  legion  cai-ied  Dorchester,  the  garrison  of  which, 
educed  by  drafts  from  V.mgeburg,  and  defective  in  morale  — 


THE  FORAY  OF  THE  PARTISANS.          81} 

in  consequence  of  a  terrible  mutiny  which  bad  just  taken  place, 
in  which  more  than  a  hundred  men  were  put  liors  de  combat  — 
>vas  in  no  condition  for  defence,  and  fled  precipitately  at  the 
first  appearance  of  the  Americans.  Lee  found  large  booty  in 
this  place,  of  horses,  stores,  and  fixed  ammunition.  Henry 
Hampton,  at  the  same  time,  captured  and  held  the  post  at  the 
Four-Holes  bridge.  Mahain,  at  the  head  of  one  of  Marion's 
detachments,  passing  the  heads  of  Cooper  river  and  Watboo 
creek,  penetrated  to  the  east  of  Biggin  church  —  having  for  his 
object  the  destruction  of  the  bridge  over  the  Watboo,  in  order 
to  obstruct  the  retreat  of  the  British  garrison  at  Biggin  church ; 
that  sanctuary  having  been  converted  into  a  fortress.  Wade 
Hampton,  meanwhile,  pressing  below  the  British  cordon  also, 
passed  on  to  the  east  of  Dorchester,  by  the  Wassamasaw  road 
to  Goose-creek  bridge,  destroying  the  post  at  that  place,  and 
cutting  off  the  communication  between  Dorchester  and  Monck's 
Corner. 

When  we  mention  that  the  several  routes  thus  taken  covered 
the  different  roads  communicating  with  the  metropolis,  the  reader 
will  readily  conceive  the  important  uses  of  the  expedition  in 
isolating  .the  various  scattered  posts  of  the  enemy,  and  thus 
leaving  them  at  the  mercy  of  their  enterprising  antagonists. 
So  completely,  thus  far,  was  the  object  attained,  that  Wade 
Hampton,  becoming  impatient  of  delay  at  Goose-creek  bridge 
—  having  waited  vainly  for  Lee's  approach  from  Dorchester,  in 
order  to  effect  a  junction  —  dashed  boldly,  at  the  head  of  his 
jwn  dragoons,  down  the  road  to  Charleston  itself,  sweeping 
away  and  destroying  every  obstacle  in  his  path.  A  British 
patrol  of  dragoons,  arid  the  detachment  posted  at  the  quarter- 
house,  within  six  miles  of  the  city,  were  thus  destroyed  or  cap 
tured  ;  and,  knowing  the  feebleness  of  the  Charleston  garrison 
in  cavalry,  Hampton  stretched  forward  with  an  audacity  which 
was  fully  justified  by  the  event,  making  his  way  down  toward 
the  metropolis,  apparently  with  the  headlong  determination  of 
one  resolved  on  its  capture  with  his  own  hands.  He  thus  con 
finued  until  the  two  rivers,  A&hley  and  Cooper,  opened  on  his 
sight  at  the  same  moment,  the  walls  and  steeples  of  the  city 
swelling  up  between,  while  the  harbor  spread  away  to  the  east, 
the  ships-of-war  lying  at  anchor,  and  the  galleys  roving  to  and 


812  EDTAW. 

fro,  wholly  unconscious  of  danger.  Had  lie  been  followed 
closely  by  the  army  of  Greene,  at  that  moment,  the  citizen* 
would  have  risen,  and  the  garrison  would  have  been  crushed 
Gallantly  charging  down  through  that  grand  avenue  of  oaks, 
which  was  once  second  in  venerable  beauty  to  no  other  in  the 
world  —  which  formed  the  main  approach  to  the  city  —  as  bold 
ly  as  if  a  conquering  army  did  follow  at  his  heels,  our  colonel 
of  dragoons  threw  the  whole  garrison  into  sudden  consternation. 
They  had  received  no  intimation  of  his  approach.  Their  out 
posts  had  all  been  surprised  and  captured.  Their  patrols  had 
suffered  the  same  fate,  and  the  celerity  of  Hampton's  movement 
allowed  no  opportunity  for  the  communication  of  intelligence 
casually.  He  w^as  naturally  assumed,  by  the  garrison,  to  be  only 
the  avant  courier,  preceding  the  entire  army  of  Greene  ;»and  the 
city  was  in  no  condition  for  the  reception  of  such  a  visiter.  The 
old  Avails  had  become  dilapidated — had  been  partly  pulled 
down  to  make  way  for  new  ones,  which  were  yet  in  an  unfin 
ished  state.  The  garrison  had  been  reduced,  the  chief  force 
lying  at  Orangeburg.  Many  of  the  troops  were  raw,  others  un 
ruly  ;  and,  for  some  time  past,  Balfour  the  commandant  had 
conceived  considerable  cause  for  suspicion  of  insurrection  among 
the  patriotic  portion  of  the  inhabitants.  These  began  to  meet 
and  whisper,  and  put  their  houses  in  order;  and,  in  brief,  there 
was  good  reason  for  consternation  in  the  garrison.  The  alarm- 
gun  was  fired ;  the  alarm-bells  were  rung ;  there  was  hot  spur 
ring  of  aides-de-camp,  a  wild  rush  of  artillery  and  horse,  hasty 
buckling  on  of  armor,  and  loud  clamors  of  drum  and  trumpet. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  very  pretty  alarm  for  the  occasion,  and  the 
season  of  the  year ;  and  Hampton  might  congratulate  himself 
upon  giving  the  British  garrison  a  very  unpleasant  scare,  if  he 
did  nothing  more  serious. 

The  lines  were  hastily  manned ;  the  cannon  were  made  to 
belch  forth  their  thunders  at  the  audacious  little  squadron  ;  and 
the  garrison,  man  and  boy,  under  arms  everywhere,  looked  anx 
iously  forth,  from  loophole  and  turret,  for  the  appearance  of 
those  massed  legions  of  the  rebels  who  were  supposed  to  be 
pressing  forward  in  the  rear,  and  for  the  encounter  with  which, 
in  any  force,  the  commandant  at  Charleston  was  never  more 
inadequately  pieparcd  than  at  that  moment. 


THE    FORAY    OF   THE    PARTISANS.  31 8 

He  was,  of  course,  very  soon  relieved  of  his  terrors.  Greene's 
army,  at  the-same  moment,  was  hardly  equal  to  a  march  of  three 
leagues.  Sick,  half  naked,  wanting  in  arras,  munitions,  and 
numbers,  they  had  no  sort  of  morale  for  any  enterprise.  Hamp 
ton,  contemplating  nothing  more  than  insult  and  bravado,  and 
an  hour's  enjoyment  of  the  sea-breezes  in  July,  wheeled  about 
after  he  had  sufficiently  satisfied  these  objects.  He  carried  off 
with  him  some  fifty  prisoners,  and  a  few  gallant  knights,  whom 
he  picked  up,  with  steel  gloves,  en  route.  Lee,  passing  over  the 
same  route  the  next  day,  found  «it  barren.  His  "  Memoirs"  omit 
to  state  the  fact  —  which  greatly  annoyed  him  at  the  time  — 
that  Hampton  had  anticipated  him,  and  had  thus  left  nothing  in 
the  field  for  another  gleaner. 

These  duties  done,  the  several  parties  moved  on  to  unite 
themselves  with  the  main  body  under  Sumter.  The  object  of 
Sumter,  at  this  moment,  was  the  British  post  at  Biggin.  Biggin 
church  was  a  strong  brick  building,  which  art  had  improved  for 
military  purposes.  It  is  about  a  mile  from  Monck's  Corner, 
where  the  British  had  a  redoubt  also.  The  church  at  Biggin 
covered  the  bridge  across  Watboo  creek,  and  secured  the  re 
treat  on  that  route  (the  eastern)  from  Monck's  Corner.  At  this 
latter  place,  there  is  a  choice  of  three  roads  to  the  city ;  and,  at 
Biggin,  you  are  on  an  arm  of  Cooper  river,  the  navigation  of 
which  is  unimpeded  for  small  craft  to  the  city  and  the  coast,  a 
distance  of  little  more  than  thirty  miles. 

We  have  seen  that,  in  order  to  cut  off  the  retreat  of  the  Big 
gin  garrison  by  the  eastern  route,  Maham  was  despatched  to 
destroy  the  bridge  over  the  Watboo.  But  the  ill  consequences 
of  the  delay  to  which  Sumter  had  been  subjected,  by  the  diver 
sion  of  a  large  portion  of  his  command  for  the  destruction  of  a 
reported  force  at  Murray's  ferry,  were  now  to  be  ascertained. 
Colonel  Coates,  who  held  the  post  at  Biggin,  had  succeeded  in 
receiving  reinforcements  from  the  city.  In  all  probability,  this 
reported  force  at  Murray's  ferry  had  suddenly  been  recalled  to 
meet  the  threatening  danger.  Hampton  and  Lee  had  suffi 
ciently  alarmed  the  garrison  at  Charleston.  The  sense  of  peril 
had  led  to  the  immediate  strengthening, of  the  force  at  Biggin, 
which,  before  Sumter  could  reach  the  ground,  was  increased  to 
five  hundred  well-disciplined  infantry,  some  two  hundred  horee 

14 


314  EUTAW. 

and  a  piece  of  artillery.  We  are  to  suppose,  also,  that  ther< 
were  loyalist  auxiliaries  swelling  the  command,  though  of  these 
the  British  made  no  returns.  With  a  hody  of  regular  troops, 
eight  or  nine  hundred  in  number,  in  a  strong  position,  a  brick 
fortress,  garnished  by  artillery,  and  seconded  by  nearly  two 
hundred  cavalry,  opposed  to  him,  it  was  now  the  necessity  of 
Sumter  to  move  with  as  much  caution  as  celerity.  His  whole 
force  consisted  of  but  a  thousand  men,  including  the  legion  of 
Lee ;  and,  like  his  opponent,  he  had  but  one  field-piece.  Hi 
had  really  no  infantry.  Upon*  occasion,  the  mounted  men  oi 
Marion  served  in  this  capacity,  but  were  rarely  armed  with  the 
proper  weapons  for  the  service.  Rifles  and  shot-guns,  though 
very  formidable  under  cover  in  the  woods,  were  of  but  small 
service  in  the  proper  duties  of  the  regular  foot-soldier,  wliicl 
requires  the  crossing  of  the  steel,  as  the  ultimate  test  of  tin 
strength  of  opposing  battalions. 

Maham,  with  his  detachment,  had  made  a  demonstration  upon 
the  bridge  at  the  Watboo,  but  was  overawed  by  the  superioi 
strength  of  Coates.  Accordingly,  Sumter  despatched  Colonel 
Horry  to  the  support  of  Maham ;  and  the  former,  ranking  Ma- 
ham,  proceeded  to  the  destruction  of  the  bridge.  The  British 
cavalry  engaged  them  with  an  air  of  confidence,  which  was  not 
sustained  by  the  issue.  The  troops  of  Horry  encountered  them 
with  a  degree  of  impetuosity  from  which  they  recoiled.  The 
mounted  riflemen  of  Lacy,  who  had  a  command  in  the  detach 
ment,  broke  through  the  British  ranks,  and,  after  a  short  but 
sanguinary  passage,  the  whole  party  was  dispersed.  But  the 
flight  of  the  enemy's  cavalry  was  a  sufficient  intimation  to 
Cclinel  Ccates  of  the  necessity  for  bringing  a  larger  force 
into  the  field.  He  did  so-  and  arrested  the  attempt  upon  the 
bridge.  Horry,  in  turn,  was  compelled  to  retire  before  the  Brit 

ch  regulars,  particularly  ns  they  appeared  in  such  force  as  to 
persuade  Sumter  that  their  whole  army  was  at  hand,  advancing 

o  a  feeneral  engagement. 

In  this  belief,  and  that  Coates  had  marched  out  to  give  him 
;.  4ttle,  the  American  partisan  withdrew  to  a  defile  in  the  rear  of 

is  then  position,  and  quietly  prepared  to  receive  the  attack.  It 
was  a  proper  prudence,  perhaps,  but  of  unfortunate  result. 


THE    FOIUY    OF   THE    PARTISANS. 

Coatcs  had  no  purpose  of  battle.  The  ruse  deceived  the 
American  general.  The  design  of  the  British  colonel,  was  to 
gain  time  —  to  waste  the  day  —  and  retreat  under  cover  of  the 
night.  Such  a  resolution,  by  a  British  colonel,  at  the  head  of 
such  a  force  of  regulars,  opposed  to  an  army,  scarcely  superior 
in  numbers  to  his  own,  and  of  inferior  arms  of  service,  was,  of 
itself,  ominous  of  the  declining  morale  of  the  British.  It  was 
certainly  such  a  determination  as  Sumter  had  no  reason  to  anti 
cipate.  Never  doubting  the  desire  of  his  enemies  for  battle,  he 
waited  for  the  advance  *of  Coates,  but  in  vain.  The  demon 
strations  were  kept  up  by  the  British  colonel,  throughout  the 
day,  with  considerable  ingenuity.  There  was  evermore  a  move 
ment  in  progress,  and  in  sight  of  Sumter's  reconnoitring  parties, 
which  promised  the  issue.  Never  Avere  preparations  for  battle 
more  ostentatious,  or  to  so  little  purpose.  The  heads  of  columns 
were  constantly  to  be  seen,  advancing,  and  halted  —  in  readiness 
for  further  advance,  and  only  waiting  for  the  word.  Beguiled 
with  these  appearances,  and  persuaded  that  the  event  might  be 
momently  expected,  Sumter  beheld  the  day  wearing  away  in 
vain,  and  night  corning  on.  Of  course,  nothing  more  was  to  be 
done  until  the  next  sunrise.  Sumter  bivouacked  in  the  position 
in  which  he  had  waited  for  his  enemy.  The  British  retired 
with  becoming  deliberation  to  their  post  and  quarters. 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  our  veteran  baron  of  Sinclair 
drove  into  the  British  encampment,  where  everything  was  in 
confusion.  One  of  the  first  objects  that  arrested  his  attention, 
alarmed  him  for  the  safety  of  his  sable  attendant,  Little  Peter. 
Phis  was  the  spectacle  of  a  slave-gang  of  thirty-two  negroes, 
chained  in  pairs,  and  driven,  by  an  escort  of  soldiers,  through 
the  woods  as  secretly  as  possible,  to  a  guard  sloop  which  lay  in 
the  river,  in  the  hold  of  which  they  were  to  find  their  way  to 
the  city,  and  thence  to  the  West  Indies. — "  Peter,"  cried  the 
old  man,  "  do  you  see  that  1  Begone,  boy.  Home  as  fast  as 
you  can ;  or  they  will  put  your  arms  into  bracelets  also,  and 
carry  you  to  the  Jamaica  Paradise."  And  so  Little  Peter  was 
sent  off;  our  colonel  naturally  supposing  that  he  should  no 
longer  need  his  services  in  his  farther  progress  to  the  city. 
A  moment  after,  he  was  relieved  and  gratified  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald. 


8IG  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

TROUBLE    IN   THE    CAMP. 

•  OH  !  why,  why  are  you  here  at  tins  unlucky  moment?'' 
was  the  astounding  sort  of  welcome  which  the  tongue  of  Fitz 
gerald  gave  to  the  ears  of  our  baron  of  Sinclair  and  his  two 
companions. 

"And  why  not,  Lord  Edward1?"  was  the  query  of  Colonel 
Sinclair  in  reply.  "  What's  the  cause  of  apprehension  ?" 

"  What !  have  you  not  heard  of  our  situation.  We  are  almost 
surrounded  by  the  enemy.  They  head  us  on  every  side,  and 
we  shall  have  to  cut  our  way  through  them,  if  we  would  effect 
our  escape." 

"  Escape  !  Does  a  British  soldier  think  of  escape,  when  he 
has  an  opportunity  to  fight !  Do  you,  Lord  Edward,  talk  only 
of  escape  —  of  flight  —  from  these  rascally  rebels?" 

'•  They  are  troublesome  customers  just  now,  and  have  such  a 
force  in  cavalry  that  we  have  need  to  apprehend  the  worst. 
But  we  do  not  talk  of  escape  without  fighting,  colonel ;  far  from 
it.  Wo  expect  to  fight  and  are  prepared  for  that  necessity. 
But  that  which  we  might  not  fear  for  ourselves,  my  dear  colonel, 
becomes  a  reasonable  subject  of  alarm,  when  we  contemplate 
the  perils  of  your  daughters." 

"Ah!  I  did  not  think  of  that,"  answered  Sinclair,  looking- 
giavely — "I  did  not  think  of  that." 

"But  let  us  find  you  a  shelter,  colonel.  Let  your  coachman 
follow  me." 

Fitzgerald  led  the  way  to  the  rear,  and  the  carriage,  entering 
a  wagon-track  rudely  cut  through  the  woods,  and  full  of  obstruc 
tions,  followed  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  till  a  cluster  of  log-houses 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   CAMP.  317 

wore  reached,  in  the  rear  of  the  church,  which  the  British  had 
made  their  fortress.  At  one  of  these  the  party  halted,  and  the 
colonel  was  assisted  carefully  from  the  carriage  and  conducted 
into  the  hovel.  Carrie  Sinclair  and  little  Lottie  followed  ;  and 
Fitzgerald,  having  seen  to  the  disposition  of  the  carnage,  re 
joined  the  family  at  the  hovel.  The  place  was  a  mere  shelter 
A  table,  a  few  chairs,  a  couple  of  truckle-beds,  scantily  clad  in 
drapery,  constituted  the  only  furniture.  But  the  tables  were 
covered  with  glasses  and  bottles,  significant  of  those  creature 
comforts  and  wassail  combats  which  are  so  essential  to  the 
Anglo-Norman  tastes,  if  not  to  its  valor. 

"  You  are  in  rough  soldier  quarters,  Miss  Carrie,"  said  Fitz 
gerald,  while  his  servant  busied  himself  in  removing  the  bottles, 
and  re-adjusting  the  apartment.  "  We  had  no  notion  of  such 
fair  visiters  at  this  moment." 

"But  did  you  not  expect  us?"  demanded  Sinclair.  "I  told 
you  i" 

"  Yes ;  up  to  a  certain  moment  I  did  expect  you.  Three 
days  ago  I  expected  you.  But  things  have  changed  since 
then." 

"  Ah  !  how  was  I  to  know  that  ?" 

•'From  the  commotion  in  the  country.  Did  you  not  meet 
with  frequent  bodies  of  the  rebels  ?  They  have  been  pressing 
down  from  above,  as  well  as  from  east  and  west.  They  are  all 
around  us." 

"  I  did  meet  with  some  few  squads  of  awkward  rangers  and 
riflemen — " 

"  But  did  you  not  pass  through  their  leaguer  within  the  las* 
three  miles  V1 

"  No  !  we  saw  nc  "igns  of  an  army  whatever.  The  wonder 
is,  if  they  do  surround  you,  that  we  should  have  been  suffered 
to  p&ss  within  ^o'ur  lines." 

"Ah!  they  lie  pndu.  Had  you  been  a  body  of  horse,  or 
foot,  coming  to  our  help,  you  would  have  heard  of  them.  But 
they  might  imve  warned  you  off.  There  could  be  no  reason 
why  they  shcvJd  suffer  you  to  expose  your  daughters  to  the 
chances  of  a  savage  conflict." 

"  What !  do  you  look  for  gallant,  gentlemanly,  chivalrous 
things  from  these  barbarous  Yahoos?"  exclnimed  the  old  gen 


318  EUTAW. 

tlemaii  bitterly  —  ''No!    no!      They  were  not  unwilling  that 
we  should  add  to  your  consumers  and  embarrass  your  defences. 
But,  tell  me,  why  should  the  presence  of  these  banditti  give 
you  any  real  concern  ?     I  am  fully  assured  that  the  whole  force 
iu  this  quarter  is  but  a  thousand  men  and  one  field-piece." 
"  Yes ;  but  this  whole  force  consists  of  mounted  men." 
"  Well,  they're  only  so  much  the  worse  off  for  infantry." 
"  Ay,  but  these  men  are  accustomed  to  do  battle  as  infantry 
when  occasion  needs." 

"  After  a  fashion,  and  only  when  dealing  with  inferior  troops 
They  have  not  the  weapons  for  infantry  duty,  and  when  they 
dismount,  it  is  only  to  serve  as  riflemen  —  and  for  flanking  pur 
poses." 

"  But  in  thick  forest  countries  such  as  these,  the  rifle  and  shot 
gun  become  formidable  even  against  the  bayonet.     Indeed,  it  is 
difficult  to  make  the  bayonet  tell  in  such  regions." 
"  Ay,  the  rascals  melt  away  before  it." 

"  That  is  the  worst  feature  of  the  business.  They  do  not 
wait  for  the  charge  —  and  I  don't  blame  them  —  and  they  re 
turn  to  the  attack,  the  moment  you  cease  to  press  them.  These 
infernal  woods  give  them  a  fortress  everywhere.  Besides,  my 
dear  colonel,  these  rebels  about  us  now  are  all  old  soldiers, 
trained  up  by  Marion  and  Samter  ;  they  are  cool  and  hardy. 
Now,  ours  are  half  of  them  new  recruits,  and  whatever  their  su 
periority  in  weapons,  it  is  fully  made  up  by  the  veteran  charac 
ter  of  :he  rebel  ti-cojs.  One  old  soldier,  of  five  years  standing 
is  equal  to  any  five  ardinary  roeruits." 

"  My  de?-r  Lord  Edward,  you  confound  me,  you  speak  so  se 
riously  of  your  affairs.  Why,  have  you  not  a  full  regiment,  of 
five  hundred  regular  troops  ?" 

"Regulars  —  so  called — but  mostly  r?.\,r  ones/'' 
"  But  British,  my  dear  lord — British  ;  men  with  w^cm  fight 
ing  is  a  sort  of  natural  exercise ;  grateful  ac  beef  and  rum ; 
natural  as  sin  ;  proper  and  becoming  as  prayer  on  the  sabbath, 
and  grace  at  a  feast." 
'•  Irish  —  not  British:1 

"  And  where's  the  difference  ?     Won't  the  Irish  fight  r'; 
•'Like  devils,  when  they're  in  the  burner  for  it,    :  d  when 
thciv  sympathies  go  M-'th  thc:r  coin's.     But—  a  worr   in  y<Jiv 


TROUBLE   IN  THE   CAMP.  310 

ear,  my  dear  colonel  —  we  half  distrust  our  Irish  regiments,  and 
this  is  one  source  of  our  seeming  timidity.  Their  hearts  do  not 
go  with  us.  They  do  not  feel,  the  cause.  They  fight  best  as 
new  men,  and  when  they  do  not  'know  the  enemy;  but,  contact 
with  the  rebels  wins  them  to  rebellion.  Rebellion  is  so  grateful 
to  an  Irishman's  stomach  that  he  naturally  inclines  to  all  its  ar 
guments.  We  have  had  some  proofs  lately,  of  a  sort,  to  make 
us  very  dubious  of  the  result  where  the  numbers  are  so  nearly 
equal." 

"  It  is  terrible  to  think  this  of  the  troops  you  have  to  lead 
into  action." 

"Terrible!  The  doubt  half  the  time  is,  whether  the  men 
you  are  leading  to  the  charge  may  not  thrust  their  bayonets 
into  your  own  back  !" 

"  But  you  have  a  smart  auxiliary  force  of  loyalists,  my  lord. 
They  will  fight.  They  fight  with  halters  about  their  necks." 

"  Not  so  now  !  Even  these  we  can  rely  upon  no  longer.  Tlio 
•*ebels  have  found  out  the  way  to  tamper  with  their  fidel- 
rty.  They  threaten  only  those  with  the  halter  who  refuse  to 
unite  with  them  in  the  bonds  of  love.  They  receive  the  prodi 
gals  back,  if  they  are  repentant,  and  at  once  employ  the  rascals 
against  us ;  and  it  is  found  that  they  thus  fight  better  for  them, 
than  they  ever  did  when  serving  with  us." 

"  Ay,  for  it  is  now  your  halter  that  they  fear  !  But  what  vile 
'aitli/.ess  rascals!  Not  even  keeping  up  the  show  of  2>rinciplc !" 

"Principle;  indeed  !  The  file  of  an  army,  my  de-.:  colonel, 
is  always  mercenary.  The  word  should  be  vile :  I  have  n 
doubt  it  was  originally  writte  i  t'ms  —  probably  from  vilain  ; 
and  vile  is  naturally  the  antMues'S  of  rank.  We  can  depend 
upon  none  of  them  ;  neither  regulars  nor  rangers  ;  and  our  horse 
numbers  scarce  a  hundred  and  fifty.  Thus,  with  a  force  nearly 
numbering  that  of  our  assailants,  and  much  more  efficiently 
-rmed,  we  take  our  steps  in  fear  and  trembling,  not  assured  of 
jur  troops  for  a  single  hour." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  what  a  condition  !  And  here  I  am,  at.  this 
juncture,  under  these  circumstances,  with  these  two  children." 

1  I  would  not  even  seem  inhospitable,  my  dear  colonel,"  sail 
Fitzgerald  ;  "  but,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  order 
vour  carriage  this  very  momoiit.  ?.nd  take  the  track  homeward 


320  EUTAW. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  the  rebels  will  suffer  you  to  pass  their 
cordon  without  obstruction." 

"  D — n  their  charities !  what  is  it  that  sacred  writ  tells  us 
about  the  charities  of  the  wicked  ?  Ah  !  if  I  could  mount  a 
horse!  But  it  is  no  use  to  growl !  Go  back  —  back!  retreat 
—  no;  no  !  I  can't  do  that.  I  must  go  on." 

"Father !"  said  Carrie  —  "you  forget  that  you  are  not  alone. 
Better  listen  to  what  Lord  Edward  counsels." 

"  Not  alone  !  do  you  say  ?  Well,  what  of  that  ?  You  would 
tell  me  that  you  are  girls,  not  able  to  fight.  The  more's  the 
pity.  How  I  should  like  to  transform  you  both  now  into  able- 
bodied  vigorous  young  fellows,  ready  to  fight  for  king  and  con 
stitution." 

"  God  forbid  !"  quoth  Fitzgerald,  sotto  voce. 

"And  if  you  could,  and  did,  father,"  said  Carrie  aloud,  "you 
might  find  us  rebels  too,  and  fighting  against  you." 

"  Ha  !  are  you  there,  Miss  Pert?  But  you  are  right.  Chil 
dren,  now-a-days,  seem  to  take  a  pleasure  in  thwarting  the 
wishes  of  their  parents,  flying  in  the  face  of  authority,  and  ma 
king  a  mock  at  wisdom  and  propriety." 

This,  by-the-way,  is  the  complaint  of  all  periods.  Mai*  is  tor 
ever  reproached  with  the  disposition  to  throw  off  his  shackles. 
Our  own  notion  is,  that  the  great  body  of  men  prefer  them.  It 
is  surprising  how  long  a  people  will  submit  to  the  rale  of  im 
becility. 

"  /  wo":-.I:.n't  be  a  rebel,  father,"  said  little  Lottie ;  "  I  would 
fight  fcr  you  and  Lord  Edward,  if  7  were  a  man !" 

"Beautiful  little  sinner!"  cried  old  Sinclair.  "Come  ana 
kiss  me,  you  pretty  politician  What  would  old  Lear  have 
given  for  such  a  daughter  !  Come,  kiss  your  papa,  Lottie  ;  take 
care  of  my  fool;,  you  vixen !  Would  you  crush  me  to  death 
with  those  great  hoofs  of  yours  ?" 

Some  twinges  of  the  gout,  which  had  duly  increased  with 
his  anxieties,  had  made  the  old  despot  timorous  as  woU  a? 
wrathful. 

Carrie  returned  to  the  siege. 

"Father,"  said  she,  "you  can  be  of  no  use  here.  We  *ra 
not  only  in  the  way  cf  danger,  but  ve  ;»re  i'i  tliu  way  of  our 
friends  We  trouble  and  embarrass  thorn  only.  Wny  i  «•!  D 


TROUBLE    IN    THE    CAMP.  321 

turn  ?  Why  remain  liere,  to  end  are  all  the  horrors  of  a  strug 
gle-in  which  you  can  not  share,  and  where  we  can  only  suffer? 
I  have  no  doubt  the  Americans  will  let  us  pass  without  diffi 
culty,  and  treat  us  with  as  much  civility  as  any  soldiers." 

"D — n  their  indulgences!  Americans!  —  and  are  not  we 
Americans  —  we  who  are  fighting  for  king  and  constitution  in 
America?  Am  I  less  an  American,  because  I  refuse  to  be  a 
rebel  ?  I  tell  you,  Carrie  Sinclair,  we  will  not  go  back !  It 
would  disgrace  the  whole  past  of  my  life.  No,  girl,  we  will  see 
it  out.  We  will  go  with  the  army.  I  do  not  fear  but  that  we 
shall  make  our  way,  in  spite  of,  and  triumphant  over,  this  mob 
of  rebel  rapscallions." 

"Amen  !  I  hope  so  !"  said  Fitzgerald.  "  Still,  I  could  wish, 
my  dear  colonel,  that  your  daughters  were  safe  —  safe,  at  least, 
from  exposure  to  the  scene  —  to  the  terrible  spectacle  of  war  in 
all  its  horrors  —  safe  from  exposure  to  its  caprices.  We  are 
strong,  and  will  make  good  fight ;  but  war  is  a  game  of  great 
uncertainty.  Panics  are,  of  all  things,  the  most  sudden  and 
unaccountable.  Now,  it  strikes  me,  colonel,  that  there  is  no 
humiliation  in  your  retiring  from  the  scene.  Your  daughters 
furnish  the  apology,  with  the  necessity.  You  are  an  invalid, 
and,  at  your  age,  none  but  a  fool  would  expect  you  to  exhibit 
unnecessary  daring.  I  repeat  my  counsel  —  leave  our  camp 
this  very  evening.  You  can  ride  five  miles  with  ease,  and  in 
two  hours  put  yourself  entirely  without  the  enemy's  aligncment. 
Do  so,  let  me  entreat  you;  for,  whether  we  succeed  or  fail  — 
whether  we  keep  our  position,  retreat  in  safety,  or  beat  the 
rebels  —  the  scene  will  be  such  as  no  lady  would  endure  to 
witness." 

"  Defeat  the  rebels,  my  dear  lord,  and  my  daughters  will  en 
dure  the  sight !  I  am  not  much  cursed  with  the  disease  of 
fear ;  and  a  loyal  stomach  is  nowise  delicate,  when  the  specta 
cle  is  that  of  royalty  triumphant.  As  for  flying  from  these  rab  • 
ble  rascals,  I  won't  do  it !  I  don't  believe  in  these  apprehen 
sions.  I  have  such  a  faith  in  British  bayonets,  that  I  shall  feel 
secure  —  confident  of  a  safe  progress  —  under  their  protection. 
Don't  talk  to  me  of  retreat :  I  have  not  left  home  to  be  scared 
hack  again  at  the  first  diow  of  danger.  There  is  no  danger  if 
we  face  it.'' 

14* 


822  EUTAW. 

The  twinges  of  the  gout  had  been  increasing.  They  made 
the  baron  dogged  and  querulous.  A  roar  of  pain  concluded  his 
speech  fittingly,  and  silenced  all  attempts  to  answer  it.  Just 
then,  a  young  lieutenant  appeared  at  the  entrance,  and,  lifting 
his  cap,  communicated  to  Fitzgerald  the  desire  of  Colonel  Coates 
to  see  liim  at  a  conference. 

"  Ay,  go,  my  lord,  and  see  if  you  can  get  better  tidings  for 
us.  See  what  your  colonel  says.  Tell  him,  from  me,  to  jight 
— fight i  if  there  were  five  to  one !  Let  him  put  a  bold  face 
upon  it,  and  all  will  go  well." 

It  was  with  some  reluctance  that  Fitzgerald  disappeared.  He 
would  have  much  preferred  to  have  lingered  with  Carrie  Sin 
clair,  though  there  was  but  little  prospect  of  engaging  her  in  a 
tctc-a-tetc  under  the  circumstances  ;  and  the  temper  of  our  baron 
was  not  favorable  to  smooth  sailing  on  any  sea.  His  gout  was 
becoming  more  tenacious  of  its  hold.  The  twinges  were  more 
frequent,  and  his  moods  were  governed  accordingly.  The  hour 
that  followed,  in  which  Fitzgerald  was  absent,  was  passed  in 
fretful,  impatient,  peevish,  and  sometimes  raging  humors,  in 
which  Carrie  Sinclair  was  permitted  to  exercise  but  the  ono 
virtue  of  patience. 

At  length,  Fitzgerald  returned,  looking  graver  than  ever. 

"  Well,  my  lord,  well  ?"  demanded  Sinclair.  "  What  is  de 
termined  on  ?" 

"  What  you  will  hardly  approve.  To  escape  a  fight,  if  pos 
sible  !  Our  colonel  is  confirmed  in  his  previous  convictions  of 
this  policy.  We  have  been  amusing  the  rebels  for  one  third 
of  the  day,  with  promise  of  battle.  We  have  succeeded  in  im 
pressing  them  with  the  notion  that  our  purpose  is  to  hold  our 
ground.  They  have  retired  to  the  woods  for  the  night,  though 
ready  for  position  and  battle  in  the  morning.  We  are  not  to 
wait  for  the  morning.  The  orders  are  circulated  already  to  get 
in  readiness  the  column  of  march  for  midnight.  If,  therefore, 
you  resolve  to  go  with  us,  and  share  our  fate,  you  must  be 
ready  to  set  out  by  twelve  o'clock.  I  shall  arrange  for  your 
progress  after  the  passage  of  the  main  body.  If  the  advance 
is  obstructed,  you  will  have  timely  notice  of  it,  and  a  strong 
rear-guard  will  equally  secure  you  in  that  quarter." 

"  Retreat !     Oh,  monstrous  !     And  why  retreat  ?     With  the 


TROUBLE   IN   THE   CAMP.  323 

church  as  a  redoubt,  with  log-houses  scattered  about,  and  with 
a  force  of  infantry  superior  to  that  of  our  enemy,  a  fieldpiece 
like  themselves,  and  almost  the  same  numbers,  why  the  d — 1 
should  you  retreat?  You  can  much  better  make  yourselves  se 
cure  here,  than  on  the  march,  where  you  perpetually  run  the 
risk  of  ambush,  with  sharp-shooters  and  hungry  horsemen 
harassing  you  at  every  step.  What  suicide,  what  folly,  what 
madness,  infidelity,  and  sin !  Oh,  that  I  could  mount  a 
horse  !" 

"  My  dear  colonel,  the  decision  is  that  of  a  majority.  I  op 
posed  it.  But  there  are  arguments  in  behalf  of  the  movement 
of  which  you  have  not 'heard.  We  are  short  of  provisions 
The  cavalry  of  the  enemy  covers  all  the  approaches  to  ou. 
camp,  and  cuts  off  communication  and  supply.  Besides,  their 
numbers  are  increasing ;  and  if  we  stay  much  longer,  even  if 
we  beat  them  off  in  pitched  battle,  we  must  still  succumb 
through  starvation.  This  necessity  would  involve  the  surren 
der,  as  prisoners-of-war,  of  the  whole  command.  By  a  timely 
retreat,  supposing  we  can  effect  it  safely,  or  with  small  loss,  we 
save  the  army  from  such  a  catastrophe  —  a  catastrophe  which, 
in  the  present  state  of  our  forces,  would  involve  the  loss  of  that 
at  Orangeburg,  and  lead  almost  certainly  to  the  abandonment 
of  Charleston." 

"And  why  shouldn't  my  Lord  Hawdon  rather  abandon  Or 
angeburg,  and  come  down  to  your  relief?  He  can  return  if  he 
wishes  it." 

"  He  scarcely  knows  our  condition.  We  have  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  all  our  despatches  have  been  intercepted.  Even  if 
he  did  know,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  do  anything  for 
our  relief  in  season.  We  have  only  to  rely  upon  ourselves." 

"  And  a  very  good  reliance  too,  if  you  could  only  believe  it. 
Fight,  sir,  fight  is  the  great  remedy  !  Do  not  be  driven  from 
your  position.  Hold  it  for  three  days,  and  your  enemies  will 
melt  away  as  frost  beneath  the  sun." 

"  The  subject  is  beyond  discussion  now,  my  dear  colonel.  7 
have  my  orders  !  It  is  for  you  now  to  say  whether  you  will  wait 
events,  share  our  fortunes,  or  quietly  return  homeward  while 
the  opportunity  is  left  you." 

"I  go  on,  at  all  hazards!      I    have   not  set  out,  to  be  turned 


324  EUTA\V. 

back  ai  the  first  show  of  difficulty.  I  have  no  fears.  I  can 
not  persuade  myself  — I  will  not  believe  —  tb-at  eight  hun 
dred  regular  troops,  wearing  his  majesty's  colors,  are  to  be  beat 
en  and  dispersed  by  an  ill-ordered,  ill-conducted,  ill-equipped 
gang  of  rapscallion  rebels." 

Fitzgerald,  looking  only  to  Carrie  Sinclair  and  her  sister,  and 
sympathizing  with  their  situation,  would  have  argued  the  case 
with  the  baron.  But  his  pride,  and  vanity,  and  gout,  were 
sadly  at  variance  with  all  his  reasoning  powers,  and  he  was  in 
sensible  to  argument.  When  the  young  Irishman  found  this  to 
be  the  case,  and  that  expostulation  was  hopeless,  he  said  : — 

•'  Well,  sir,  as  you  resolve,  so  be  in  readiness.  I  will  instruct 
your  coachman.  My  servant  will  await  you,  and  obey  all  your 
commands.  The  night  promises  to  be  pleasant.  The  mere  dif 
ficulties  of  travel  will  be  nothing,  even  to  the  ladies,  if  we  are 
not  compelled  to  fight  our  way.  I  shall  be  with  the  ladies  when 
it  is  necessary  that  you  should  remove." 

The  duties  of  his  post  called  him  away.  He  had  given  to 
the  party  all  the  time  that  was  possible.  He  had  shown  a  de 
gree  of  concern,  and  respectful  regard,  which  merited  the  ac 
knowledgments  of  all,  and,  at  his  departure,  Carrie  Sinclair 
gave  him  her  hand,  and  said  : — 

"  We  are  very  grateful,  Lord  Edward.  You  have  served 
and  advised  us  as  a  true  friend,  and  shall  always  command  my 
gratitude." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Sinclair,  if  I  could  only  hope  for  more." 

This  was  all  that  he  ventured,  at  that  moment,  to  say  in  ref 
erence  to  the  subject  which  was  uppermost  in  his  heart ;  and 
to  this  she  returned  no  answer. 

At  midnight  the  party  was  roused ;  the  carriage  was  in  read 
iness.  Fitzgerald  had  made  all  provisions,  and  Colonel  Sin 
clair,  his  gout  a  shade  more  troublesome,  was  lifted  into  his  car 
riage  with  the  succor  of  two  stout  dragoons.  The  British  army 
was  already  under  march.  A  dead  silence  prevailed  throughout 
the  encampment  and  over  the  great  forests  by  which  it  was 
sheltered.  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  trumpet  note,  as  the 
British  retreat  was  hurried ;  not  a  soldier  discharged  a  random 
shot ;  and  not  even  the  damsels  were  Hurried. 

And,  thus  silently,  the  whole  cavalcade  of  foot  and  horse  was 


TROUBLE    IN   THE   CAMP.  #25 

set  in  motion,  taking  their  way  eastward,  having  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  the  larger  body  of  Sumter's  troops  were  in  their  rear, 
and  anticipating  their  retreat  by  the  western  routes  to  the  city, 
if,  indeed,  they  anticipated  their  retreat  at  all.  But  this  was 
not  their  no:ion. 

And  for  awhile,  the  British  pursued  their  route  without  dis 
turbance,  and  would  have  secured  two  more  hours  for  undis 
turbed  retreat  than  they  did,  but  for  the  exercise  of  a  piece  of 
vandalism,  of  which  the  British  generals  were  too  commonly 
guilty  during  the  warfare  of  the  Revolution.  Colonel  Coates 
compelled  to  abandon  large  supplies  of  store,  munitions,  &c., 
which  he  could  not  carry  off,  had  accumulated  them,  for  this 
purpose,  within  the  church  which  he  had  lately  made  his  head- 
'juarters.  The  historian  remarks,  gratuitously,  that  he  might 
as  well  have  gathered  and  fired  them  ivitlwut  the  church,  spar 
ing  the  sacred  building  to  its  consecrated  uses.  But  the  good 
historian  makes  no  proper  allowance  for  the  piety  of  a  British 
colonel,  in  that  period.  Coates  probably  contemplated  a  nota 
ble  burnt-offering  to  the  gods,  upon  their  own  shrines,  as  a 
proof  of  his  gratitude ;  and  necessarily  regarded  such  a  valua 
ble  sacrifice,  as  he  then  made,  of  his  goods  and  chattels,  as  es 
tablishing  a  claim  to  the  favor  of  the  Deity  in  his  future  prog 
resses  !  It  is  possible  that  he  Duly  esteemed  it  as  a  tribute  of 
acknowledgment  to  the  Deity  for  the  shelter  he  had  found  in 
his  temple  for  a  season.  But  here,  w'tho  the  church,  a  vener- 
ab.e  square  structure  of  "crick,  an  episcopal  church  besides, 
built  under  royal  government,  he  gathered  his  goods,  decreed  to 
th'-i  sacrifice,  and  lighted  the  train  which  was  destined  to  con- 
si  .ins  them.  The  train  was  rather  premature.  The  gods  too 
;.-i<lily  accepted  the  burnt- offerings.  Tho  flames,  bursting 
through  the  roof  of  the  church,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
illuminated  the  forest,  announced  to  the  Americans  the  flight  of 
the  enemy,  and  roused  them  up  to  the  pursuit  !  Of  course 
Sumter  and  his  host  were  instantly  in  the  saddle  to  recover  the 
ground  which  had  been  lost,  by  overtaking  the  fleeing  enemy. 
r-'i  they  had  already  nsar  four  hours  start  of  th:ir  pursuers! 


EUTAW. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

PURSUIT THE    SKRIMMAGE    AT    QUINBY. 

THE  ground  should  never  have  been  lost.  Why  it  was  lost  — 
by  what  circumstances  —  by  whose  misconduct  —  the  chronicles 
all  fail  to  inform  us.  They  we're  probably  unwilling  to  censure 
favorite  names,  and  suppressed  much,  that,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
student,  should  properly  have  been  given.  Their  accounts  of 
the  events  in  connection  with  this  escape  of  the  British  are  all 
exceedingly  confused  and  contradictory.  A  severe  critical  ex 
amination  would  exhibit  many  contradictions  and  absurdities 
of  which  historians  should  be  made  ashamed.  In  seeking  to 
save  the  military  reputation  of  their  subject,  they  forfeit  some 
credit  to  their  own.  Why  were  the  British  suffered  to  escape 
on  this  occasion?  They  were  almost  completely  environed. 
They  could  have  been  quite.  All  the  routes  might  have  been 
covered,  and  no  matter  what  the  result  of  the  battle,  the  British 
could  have  been  most  effectually  kept  from  evading  it.  We 
have  seen  in  a  previous  chapter,  the  struggles  first  of  Maham, 
and  next  of  Horry,  to  secure  or  destroy  the  bridge  at  Watboo 
We  have  seen  that  by  an  overawing  force,  Colonel  Coates  had 
baffled  these  attempts.  It  was  by  the  route  over  this  bridge 
that  the  British  commander  made  his  escape.  Yet  it  was  cer 
tainly  in  the  power  of  Sumter,  whose  position  was  such  as  to 
warrant  his  expectation  of  battle  every  moment  at  the  hand? 
of  the  former,  to  have  covered  the  route  by  this  bridge,  even  if 
he  found  it  policy  to  avoid  bringing  on  the  general  action  a 
this  point.  Why  was  this  not  done? 

The  question  brings  us  back  to  our  former  difficulties.     As 
we  have  said,  there  is  nothing  satisfactory  to  be  gleaned   from 


PURSUIT  —  THE   SKRIMMAGE    AT    QUINB'X 

on.  chroniclers;  .and,  as  tlie  case  stands,  the  censure  necessarily 
rests  on  the  general  in  command  of  our  partisans.  We  are 
scarcely  satisfied  that  this  should  be  oo.  Yet,  from  Sumter's 
known  rashness,  which  had  already  incurred  frequent  reproach 
es,  the  world  will  readily  accuse  him  of  that  neglect  of  proper 
precautions,  which  constitutes  the  military  fault  in  the  present 
instance.  In  one  respect  he  is  not  liable  to  this  imputation  of 
rashness  on  this  occasion.  Nay,  it  would  seem,  that,  sensible 
6f  his  fault,  he  was  inclined  to  be  more  circumspect  than  usual, 
since  he  rather  withdreAv  from  before  the  demonstrations  of  the 
British,  and  chose  his  ground  with  a  deliberation  which  he  had 
hitherto  disdained  to  show,  whenever  battle  was  presented  to 
his  sword.  Ordinarily,  he  was  not  a  man  of  much  method,  or  a 
watchful  prudence.  He  preferred  rapid  to  slow  performances  ; 
was  always  more  eager  to  do,  than  to  do  systematically ;  was 
eagerly  impulsive ;  dashing  and  adventurous ;  never  counting 
the  hazards  with  an  enemy  before  him.  And  there  would  have 
been  no  such  deliberativeness  in  his  method  in  this  affair,  had 
he  ever  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  the  British  colonel  seek 
ing  to  evade  the  issue,  which  he  seemed  to  offer.  How  should 
he  fancy  such  a  thing  1  The  British  force  was,  in  numbers, 
nearly  equal  to  his  own.  They  had  a  superior  infantry.  They 
held  a  position  of  considerable  strength.  There  was  no  reason 
why  they  should  not  maintain  it,  against  any  assault,  from  such 
a  force  as  his,  even  if  they  did  not  succeed  in  keeping  it  under 
a  continued  leaguer.  He  knew  the  British  temper  too  well  to 
suppose  that  under  such  circumstances  there  could  be  any  re- 
lactance  to  fight;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  when  Sumter 
rolled  himself  up  under  his  tree  that  night  for  slumber,  he  did 
so  with  the  full  conviction  that  he  was  to  do  battle  in  the 
morning. 

But  should  Sumter  have  been  deceived  by  the  ruse  of  Coates  ? 
Should  he  have  confided  in  these-  ostentatious  demonstrations 
which  h'3  had  made  of  battle  during  the  latter  part  of  the  day, 
when  the  bridge  of  Watboo  was  the  ostensible  object  of  con 
troversy  ?  Should  not  the  very  strategics  of  Coates,  by  which 
one  third  of  the  day  was  consumed  unprofitably,  have  awakened 
some  suspicions  of  the  jeal  purposes  of  that  officer  1  If  hia 
plan*  was  battle,  there  needed  no  delay.  Why,  if  such  were 


EUTAW. 

Ins  purpose,  should  he  delay.  His  whole  force  was  in  hand, 
and  that  was  equal  to  that  of  the  Americans.  No  re-enforce 
ments  could  be  expected,  in  the  brief  interval  of  a  night,  which 
he  seemed  to  require.  His  troops  had  not  been  fatigued  by 
any  hard  duty  as  was  the  case  with  Sumter's.  They  were  all 
fresh,  all  well-armed,  and  ammunition  in  abundance.  Sumter 
ought  not  to  have  been  deceived. 

But  was  he  deceived  ?  Was  he  himself  prepared  for  battle 
at  the  moment.  We  think  not.  We  believe  that  his  troops 
were  not  in  hand ;  that  his  force  was  inadequate  to  the  conflict 
when  Coates  made  his  demonstrations.  Our  reasons  are  founded 
upon  the  fact  tlu.t  it  was  only  that  very  day  that  the  mounted 
men  of  Marion  and  the  legion  of  Lee  reached  him.  We 
have  no  evidenct  to  show  at  what  hour  they  did  arrive,  but 
most  probably  late  in  the  day  —  probably  not  before  night  had 
fallen ;  since  we  find  that  Lee  in  his  memoirs,  reports  nothing 
of  the  efforts  severally  and  jointly  made  by  Maham  and  Horry 
to  destroy  the  bridge  at  Watboo,  by  which  the  enemy  must 
pass  if  he  took  the  route  east  of  Cooper  river.  He  only  tells 
us  that  Coates  had  occupied  it  with  a  detachment.  Subse 
quently,  it  appears  from  Lee's  statement,  that  Coates  had  aban 
doned  it,  and  that  Sumter  had  ordered  a  party  to  take  posses 
sion  of  it.  They  certainly  did  not  keep  possession  of  it,  for  by 
this  very  route  Coates  made  his  escape  unobserved.  But  the 
statement  would  acquit  Sumter  of  all  blame.  But  how  was  it 
that  the  passage  of  the  bridge  was  suffered  ?  The  answer  is 
that  Sumter  believed  the  bridge  to  have  been  destroyed ;  that 
he  had  detached  a  party  for  this  purpose  ;  that  the  report  of  the 
officer  of  the  detachment  assured  him  that  the  work  had  beep 
done ;  and  that  the  British  were  effectually  cut  off  from  retreat  in 
that  direction ;  and  that  Sumter  manoeuvred  to  compel  their  re 
treat  by  the  western  route  which  was  the  shortest  and  easiest; 
conceiving  them  to  be  too  strong  in  their  position  at  Biggin  to 
attack  them  in  that  place.  It  is  farther  stated,  by  way  of  ex 
cusing  the  party  who  had  undertaken  the  destruction  of  the 
bridge,  that  they  had  done  so,  effectually,  but  that  Coates  haa 
repaired  it. 

Now  this    was  next  to    impossible,  if   the  work    had   been 
thoroughly  done.     Had  the  sleepers  been  cut  through,  as  weU 


PURSUIT — THE   SKRIAIMAGB    AT   QUINT. V.  o29 

as  tlie  planks  thrown  off,  there  could  have  been  no  repairs 
effected,  adequate  to  the  passage  of  eight  hundred  men,  of 
which  one  hundred  and  fifty  were  horse,  a  piece  of  artillery, 
and  an  extended  train  of  baggage-wagons.  But  even  allowing 
that  the  British  had  repaired  the  bridge,  why  were  they  suffered 
to  do  so  1  Where  were  the  scouting  parties  —  the  patrols  —  the 
hungry,  eager,  watchful,  vigilant  hawks  of  war  that  should 
have  been  for  ever  on  the  wing  around  the  enemy's  whole  en 
campment  1  There  is  no  answer  to  this  question.  Indeed, 
from  all  circumstances,  it  would  seem  that  no  watch  had  been 
maintained  at  all.  This  seems  to  be  the  naked  fact  —  let  the 
blame  fall  where  it  will.  Coates  should  never  have  been  suf 
fered  to  repair  the  bridge,  even  if  this  were  possible.  But  we 
doubt  this  whole  story.  We  suspect  that  the  party  sent  to 
destroy  it,  contented  themselves  with  throwing  off  a  few  planks, 
which  a  few  men  in  half  an  hour  could  readily  restore.  It 
should  never  have  been  left  to  the  fiery  beacon,  which  their 
own  hands  had  kindled,  to  announce  the  flight  of  the  British  in 
the  camp  of  our  partisans. 

But  who  shall  say  that  Sumter  had  not  taken  all  these  and 
other  precautions  ?  It  is  one  of  the  evils  of  a  volunteer  and 
militia  service,  that  vedettes,  and  sentinels,  and  patrolling  par 
ties,  are  easity  beguiled  from  their  duty.  They  rarely  acquire 
the  stern  discipline  of  the  regular  service.  This  is  their  grand 
defect.  They  have  ardor  in  greater  degree  than  the  regular ; 
are  famous  at  a  dash  —  in  the  first  headlong  onset ,  but  they  get 
easily  diverted  from  the  main  to  minor  '>bjec',s ;  easily  dis 
couraged  by  unlooked-for  reverses;  lack  in  that  simple  steady 
courage  and  endurance  which  secures  a  victory,  and  never  loses 
an  opportunity.  We  can  scarcely  conceive  that  Sumter  shoui  1 
retire  to  his  tents,  without  taking  every  proper  precaution 
against  his  enemy's  movements.  In  all  probability  his  scouting 
parties  were  ordered  on  the  duty  and  evaded  it.  Of  course, 
there  is  no  excuse  for  this  dereliction ;  but  it  may  be  sug 
gested  that  a  large  portico  cf  Sumters  command  had  just 
arrived  in  camp  •  that  thay  rad  already  been  engaged,  for 
several  days,,  in  incessant  :  nd  exhausting  operations;  that  ti.3 
weather  was  intensely  hot ;  and  that  nature  was  overcome  wi.ii 
languci  and  Debility.  Perhaps  the  partisans  also  generally 


330  EUTAW. 

indulged  in  Sumter's  own  conviction,  that  the  fight  was  cer 
tainly  to  come  off  on  the  morrow,  and  that  rest  was  necessary 
to  prepare  them  for  its  trials.  We  can  readily  find  apologies 
for  all  parties,  but  never  a  good  excuse  for  any. 

But,  to  our  narrative  : — 

The  church  in  flames  soon  taught  our  partisans  that  the  bird 
had  flown.  The  pursuit  was  immediately  commenced.  It  was 
as  quickly  ascertained  that  Coates  had  pursued  the  eastern  route 
and  not  the  western  Why  he  should  have  done  so,  is  not 
important  to  our  study.  The  west  was  the  shortest  and  the 
easiest  route,  unobstructed  by  water-courses ;  but  it  was  proba 
bly  the  heaviest  march  in  hot  weather,  and  over  long  tracts  of 
sterile  sands.  Water  and  shade  might  have  been  the  induce 
ments  to  pursue  the  eastern  route  and  it  is  possible  that  Coates 
may  have  been  apprized  of  some  ascending  galleys  by  the 
Cooper  river,  bringing  provisions  and  reinforcements.  Enough 
for  us  that  our  partisans  were  soon  aware  of  the  direction  taken 
by  the  British. 

The  pursuit,  hotly  eager,  was  begun  by  Lee  with  the  cavalry 
of  his  legion,  and  Maharn,  with  a  detachment  of  Marion's. 
The  rest  of  the  forces  followed  as  fast  as  possible ;  the  field- 
piece  (as  it  proved  unfortunately)  being  left  behind  in  charge 
of  Lieutenant  Singleton,  in  order  not  to  retard  the  infantry ;  a 
policy  which  rendered  the  pursuit  much  more  swift  than  sure. 
It  is  necessary  here  that  we  should  remind  the  reader  that  there 
is  a  choice  of  roads  on  the  route  east  of  Cooper  river,  both  of 
which  conduct  to  the  metropolis.  Biggin  creek,  the  most 
northerly  of  several  streams  which  unite  to  make  the  river,  is 
esteemed  the  head,  or  chief  of  its  western  branches.  East  of 
this  creek  the  Charleston  road  crosses  two  other  creeks,  called 
Watboo  and  Quinby,  the  latter  being  esteemed  the  eastern  arm 
of  the  river.  Between  these  two  creeks  the  road  forks,  and 
crosses  the  latter  at  two  different  points ;  the  right  at  Bonneau's 
ferry,  the  left  at  Quinby  bridge.  The  road  to  Bonneau's  ferry 
follows  the  course  of  the  main  stream ;  the  route  by  Quinby 
diverges  from  it,  for  a  time,  in  an  easterly  direction.  The  in 
terval  between  the  two  crossings  may  be,  m  an  air  line,  six  cr 
seven  miles.  We  may  call  it  fifteen  miles  from  Biggin,  tis 


PURSUIT  —  THE   SKRIMMAGE    AT   QUINBY.  381 

',?be  fork  which  opens  the  roads  to  these  two  points  begins  at  a 
.- hort  distance  only  from  the  former. 

These  particulars  being  understood,  it  will  be  easy  to  follow 
t^.e  course  of  our  partisans,  and  of  the  British  respectively. 
The  former,  in  full  chase,  darted  across  Watboo  bridge,  which 
she  enemy  had  not  broken  down  behind  them  —  probably  bo- 
ause  they  feared  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  sleeping  .Ameri 
cans.  Our  troopers  dashed  on  until  they  made  the  disccver;/ 
that  the  British  army  had  divided,  the  infantry  and  artiJlerv 
taking  one  route,  the  cavalry  another,  the  latter  pursuing  t,h-i 
right  hand  road  leading  to  Bonneau's  ferry.  Hampton  alone 
continued  the  pursuit  of  the  cavalry,  Lee  proceeding  with  his 
legion  against  the  infantry.  But,  Hampton,  though  lie  urged 
his  steeds  at  every  bound,  had  the  mortification  to  discover, 
when  he  reached  the  ferry,  that  the  enemy  had  escaped  him, 
had  crossed  in  safety,  and  secured  the  boats  on  the  opposite 
side.  He  could  only  cast  wistful  glances  at  the  quarry,  and 
cursing  his  misfortune,  to  wheel  about  and  retrace  his  steps,  in 
hope  to  get  up  in  time  to  take  a  part  in  the  play  with  the 
British  infantry. 

Meanwhile,  the  legion  horse,  and  Maham's,  were  pressing 
hard  and  fast  upon  the  heels  of  the  enemy,  on  the  route  to 
Quinby  bridge.  Colonel  Coates  had  marched  well,  and,  so  far, 
prosperously;  but  he  was  not  one  of  those  military  marvels  who 
bring  genius  to  the  aid  of  drill.  He  was  a  tolerable  soldier  of 
the  old  school,  and  in  a  period  when  the  age  was  not  distin 
guished  by  any  great  military  examples.  He  had  outgeneraled 
Sumter,  had  stolen  away  from  him,  but  had  committed  several 
errors.  His  firing  the  church  was  an  error  in  policy,  if  not  in 
morals.  He  had  unnecessarily  advised  his  enemy  of  his  flight, 
just  two  hours  too  soon.  Better  had  he  left  the  stores  for  the 
temptation  of  the  starving  and  naked  partisans.  The  disposi 
tion  of  his  column  of  march  on  the  retreat,  was  not  a  judicious 
one.  His  baggage-train,  instead  of  being  sent  ahead,  under  a 
sufficient  escort,  was  made  to  bring  up  the  rear,  under  a  guard 
of  one  hundred  men,  commanded  by  &  c  ftaiu  v.  apt.  Campbell. 
The  rear-guard,  on  a  retreat,  should  consist  of  picked  men  under 
a  lirst-rate  officer.  In  the  present  case,  it  was  composed  of  raw 
Irishmen  who  had  never  been  under  fire,  and  was  led  by  an  h1 


382  EUTAW. 

competent  person.  Another  error  was  in  the  lengthened  line 
of  the  column  of  march ;  the  rear-guard  being  most  of  the  time 
more  than  a  mile  in  the  rear  of  the  main  body.  But  we  mus* 
not  stop  for  criticism;  let  us  proceed  to  the  events  of  this  pw- 
suit. 

Coates,  as  we  have  said,  marched  well;  but  the  most  rapid 
inarch  of  infantry,  cumbered  with  a  heavy  baggage-train,  is  shll 
a  slow  progress.  It  was  not  difficult  for  cur  Baron  Sinclair's 
carriage,  drawn  by  four  first-rate  horses,  to  keep  up  with  the 
march,  Fitzgerald,  in  order  to  the  better  security  of  the  little 
party,  had  introduced  it  in  the  interval  between  the  main  body 
and  the  rear-guard.  ITere,  the  chances  were,  that,  whether  a4-- 
tacked  in  front  or  rear,  there  would  still  be  time  afforded  to  get 
the  carriage  out  of  the  melee. 

This  disposition,  besides,  afforded  him  frequent  opportunities 
for  communion  with  the  lady  whom  he  sought.  Our  young 
Irishman  neglected  no  precautions,  and  forbore  no  attentions. 
He  was  frequently  beside  the  carriage,  and,  by  his  buoyancy 
of  temper,  and  lively  play  of  conversation,  greatly  contributed 
to  beguile  the  tediousness  of  the  route.  He  was  never  more, 
elastic,  more  gay,  more  graceful ;  never  appeared  to  better  ad 
vantage  ;  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  our  Baron  Sinclair 
could  refrain,  when  the  young  fellow  withdrew  to  his  duties, 
from  reproaching  Carrie  aloud,  for  preferring  —  as  he  muttered 

it  to  himself — "a  d d  demure  son  of  a  Frenchman,"  to  the 

brave  and  dashing  young  cavalier,  who  was  so  distinguished, 
and  could  make  himself  so  agreeable !  Our  present  task  will 
not  suffer  us  to  report  the  dialogues  between  these  parties  on 
the  route,  or  even  to  give  a  sample  of  them.  Enough,  that  the 
night  rapidly  stole  away,  and  the  dawn  opened,  and  the  day  ad 
vanced,  and  they  as  yet  felt  none  of  the  fatigues  of  the  journey. 
Hours  had  now  passed,  since  their  departure  from  Biggin,  and 
no  hostile  trumpet  had  sounded  in  their  ears.  At  length  the 
vanguard  reached  Quinby  in  safety,  crossed,  and  continued  its 
progress.  The  main  body  followed  in  safety,  also,  dragging 
their  solitary  piece  of  aitillery  across  the  bridge.  The  planks 
of  the  bridge  were  then  loosened  from  the  sleepers,  ready  to  be 
thrown  off,  and  into  the  creek,  as  soon' as  the  rear-gnard  should 
have  oassed.  The  howitzer,  its  muzzle  tnrnp.d  tnwm-rl  flip 


PURSUIT  —  THE  SKRLVmAGK    AT    QUIN^  '&? 

tiidge,  charged  with  grape,  was  allowed  to  remain,  t;  p.  otect 
the  party  destined  to  demolish  it. 

So  quiet  had  been  the  march,  so  utterly  undisturbed  the 
progress,  that  the  severe  exertions  of  the  British  colonel  were 
relaxed.  His  precautions  seemed  to  give  him  every  security. 
What  had.  he  to  fear  from  the  rear,  with  a  strong  detachment 
of  a  hundred  men  a  mile  behind  him  ?  What  to  fear  in  front, 
with  his  main  body  already  marching  across  the  causey  before 
him,  and  pressing  onward,  through  a  lane,  into  a  friendly  set 
tlement  ?  There  were  surely  no  reasonable  grounds  for  appre 
hension,  at  such  a  moment ;  and  Coates  himself  loitered  at  the 
bridge  with  the  howitzer,  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  rear 
guard  and  baggage-wagons.  His  escape  was  a  matter  so  sure, 
in  his  opinion,  that  his  mood  and  muscles  relaxed  to  merriment. 
Fitzgerald,  who  had  just  galloped  up  from  Sinclair's  carriage, 
which  he  had  left  half  a  mile  behind,  was  the  subject  of  much 
of  that  sort  of  jest  in  which  old  soldiers  love  to  deal  at  the  ex 
pense  of  young  ones,  and  which  young  lovers  rarely  find  offen 
sive.  Coates  assumed  him  to  be  successful  in  his  pursuit;  and, 
though  Fitzgerald  denied  it,  and  expressed  his  fears,  yet  this 
was  ascribed,  by  his  colonel,  only  to  a  proper  modesty,  which 
would  not  suffer  him  to  boast.  At  this  very  moment,  and  while 
the  two,  attended  by  a  few  artillerists  only,  were  loiteri^j  about 
the  gun,  the  leading  officer  of  the  pursuing  partisans  had  report 
ed  the  rear-guard,  under  Campbell,  to  be  in  sight. 

The  legion  cavalry  were  in  advance;  Marion's,  u"der  Ma- 
ham.  close  behind  them.  Lee,  at  once,  prepared  for  tLo  charge 
The  legion  cavalry  was  directed  to  take  close  order.  Captain 
Eggleston,  with  one  troop,  was  detached,  turning  into  the  woods 
on  the  left,  in  order  to  gain  the  enemy's  right;  while  the  squad 
ron  under  Lee,  supported  by  the  cavalry  under  Maham,  ad 
vanced  along  '"he  road  directly  toward  the  quarry. 

We  have  seen  how  the  rear-guard  of  Coates  was  composed; 
and  of  what  force  it  consisted.  The  approach  of  the  American 
horse,  from  two  directions,  first  awakened  Campbell,  the  captain 
of  the  YJritish,  to  a  sense  of  his  danger.  He  formed  his  line,  and 
^hindered  in  doing  so.  Had  he  at  once  taken  to  the  swv  '•(* 
winch  sk;rtod  him,  and  posted  himself  under  cc?vr  <.  :f  Mr 
]•<>  v'ould  Laye  been  safe 


334  EUTAW 

ra  line,  liis  IP  ft  upon  the  road,  and  his  right  in  the  woods  oppo 
«ne  t..  Egglftstim'"1  command. 

•' "-W1  have  him  as  we  want  him!"  said  Lee,  to  his  captain 
/.-./I-: i.r.  ,yii  g,  a  very  gallant  and  powerful  fellow. 

The  British  line  was  scarcely  formed  when  Lee's  bugle 
sounded  the  charge.  His  troop  dashed  forward,  swords  drawn, 
and  steeds  in  full  gallop.  At  that  instant,  the  British  order  to 
'•fire"  was  heard  distinctly  from  right  to  left.  But  no  fire  fol 
lowed.  Lee  felt  the  danger. 

'  Tiny  reserve  their  fire  to  make  it  more  fatal !"  said  he  to 
Armstrong. 

"  It  is  fatal  if  we  falter  now  !"  exclaimed  Armstrong,  giving 
}  is  steed  the  rowel  as  he  spoke,  and  rushing  forward.  He  was 
promptly  followed,  with  a  wild  shout,  and  every  sword  flashing 
m  the  air. 

To  the  surprise  of  the  assailants,  their  delighted  surprise, 
tliere  was  not  a  shot.  The  wild  Irish  threw  down  their  arms, 
and  begged  for  quarter. 

Was  this  terror  ?  Was  it  the  menacing  attitude  of  the  cav 
alry  that  produced  this  result?  Possibly.  Arid  yet,  of  a  huri- 
ired  .uen,  of  a  notoriously  fighting  race,  was  there  not  one  man, 
*o  die;'  .urge  a  musket  —  from  impulse,  if  not  from  will  or  prin 
ciple  1  Not  one !  Lee  ascribed  it  all  to  panic.  It  may  have 
'..sen  so.  Panic  is  as  contagious  as  fire,  and  runs  as  quickly 
iirc-igh  f:e  ranks  as  fire  does  over  the  prairies  in  dry  weather. 
,  >~at  we  remember  what  Fitzgerald  said  to  Sinclair,  and  we  half 
•aspect,  there  was  no  hearty  good  will  for  the  British  cause 
,.nong  these  wild  Irish,  and  that  this  had  something  to  do  with 
Anyhow,  it  is  very  clear  that  their  captain  Campbell  was 

»  imbecile. 

l"f  course,  Lee  was  very  well  pleased  to  grant  quarter  to 
_  Lopie  who  had  behaved  so  civilly.  Both  Darties  escaped  un 
hurt.  A  few  of  the  militia  horse  was  detached  to  take  charge 
of  the  prisoners  and  baggage,  and  the  legion  cavalry  dashed 
ahead  after  the  main  body  of  the  ref-rea*i.:g  Eritish.  Scarcely 
!  al  Lee's  back  been  turned,  wl'tr.  Cc^caiu  0  •'•'- pi  ell,  beginning 
to  feel  ashamed  of  himseh.  rna'^e  ?r  tfiort,  to  persuade  his  men 
resume  their  arms;  but  -•  -.«yger  brought  Lee 


PURSUIT  — THE   SKRIMMAGE    AT   QUINBY.  335 

back,  and  the  captain  not  over  fierce,  and  his  men  not  over  wil 
ling,  they  were  soon  subdued  to  docility. 

But  this  paltry  petty  incident,  probably  saved  the  British 
army.  While  Lee  was  quieting  Campbell,  Armstrong  came  in 
sight  of  the  bridge  and  Coatcs.  The  latter,  at  this  moment, 
was  in  his  most  humorous  vein,  jeering  Fitzgerald  about  his 
conquests.  He  was  actually  talking  about  Cupid  and  Hymen, 
and  such  antiquated  divinities,  in  a  sort  of  speech  which  the 
poets  of  that  day  had  dealt  in  ad  nauseam.  Our  renders  will 
remember  that  that  was  the  era  of  such  geniuses  as  Pye,  and 
Whitehead,  and  Wharton,  successively  poets-laureate.  We 
may  judge  readily  of  the  sort  of  poets  which  could  willingly 
sing  the  glories  of  the  Guelphic  dynasties  of  the  Georges  — 
first,  second,  or  third !  Lee  ought  not  to  have  turned  back. 
What  if  the  wild  Irish  under  Campbell  did  resume  their  arms, 
how  could  they  effect  the  result  ?  Besides,  the  infantry  under 
Sumter  were  pressing  forward,  and  the  British  rear-guard  might 
safely  have  been  left  to  them.  The  moments  were  too  precious 
to  be  wasted  upon  any  subordinate  objects.  Everything  de 
pended  upon  the  headlong  rush  over  the  bridge,  while  Coates 
was  unsuspicious  of  danger,  and  while  his  main  body  were 
crowded  along  a  causey,  girdled  by  swamp,  packed  closely  on 
this  causey,  and  in  the  still  narrower  lane  beyond  it,  unable  to 
deploy,  and  to  be  moAvn  down  like  thick  grass  at  the  will  of 
the  reaper.  Had  the  whole  force  of  the  legion  dashed  onward, 
the  discomfiture  of  the  whole  army  of  the  British,  in  this  situa 
tion,  was  inevitable.  No  infantry  can  withstand  a  determined 
charge  of  cavalry  while  in  such  condition. 

But  the  gallant  Armstrong,  though  leading  his  own  troop 
only,  remembering  the  orders  of  the  day,  to  charge  the  enemy 
at  all  hazards  wherever  he  could  find  them,  dashed  onward  to 
his  prey  giving  no  heed  to  consideration,  right  or  left.  He 
passed  the  carriage  of  Colonel  Sinclair  like  a  streak  of  light 
ning,  giving  it  no  sort  of  heed,  as  if  it  were  game  quite  too 
small  for  any  trooper  with  a  goodly  enemy  before  him.  Your 
petty  chapman  of  a  captain  would  have  stopped  to  look  into 
the  vehicle,  to  see  if  it  contained  "  the  elephant." 

The  little  party  of  Colonel  Sinclair  were  roused  on  a  suddeii, 
as  the  troop  went  by. 


EUTAW. 

"  Who  are  these  people  1  Why  this  rush  ?"  demanded  Carrie 
Sinclair  if  her  father. 

"  The  rebels !  by  all  that's  damnable !"  roared  the  colonel, 
and  he  felt  for  his  pistols.  But  the  troop  had  swept  by.  An 
other  came,  and  another,  and  they  swept  on  also,  without  heed 
ing  the  vehicle. 

"Oh  !  my  father,  they  are  about  to  fight.  Let  us  fly  —  into 
the  woods.  Into  the  woods." 

"  Ay,  we  shall  have  it  now,  my  girl,  and  you  will  soon  see 
how  the  British  regulars  will  trim  the  jackets  of  these  fellows ! 
But  it  is  something  queer  that  they  should  pass  the  rear-guard. 
They  couldn't  do  so  without  a  fight.  Have  I  been  asleep 
Have  you  heard  nothing,  Carrie  ?" 

"  Nothing,  till  the  rush  of  these  horsemen." 

"No  guns  —  no  trumpets  —  no  shouts?" 

"Nothing,  sir." 

"  It  is  strange.  These  fellows  look  to  be  rebels.  Their  uni 
form —  if  it  may  be  called  such  —  is  not  ours.  What  can  tho 
rear-guard  be  about.  Where  the  devil  is  Fitzgerald  ?" 

"  He  has  only  a  little  while  left  us,  you  remember." 

"  Ay,  ay  ;  but  where  the  devil  is  he  now.  It  is  now  that  he 
is  wanted." 

"But,  dear  father,  we  are  here  in  the  way  of  danger.  Had 
we  not  better  turn  into  the  woods." 

"  Danger  !  Pshaw !  Do  you  suppose  that  these  trooping 
squads,  even  if  they  be  of  the  rebel  route,  can  do  anything 
against  his  majesty's  infantry,  covered  with  a  field-piece. 
There's  no  danger,  girl.  None !  But,  I  think,  Fitzgerald 
might  have  shown  himself,  so  as  to  have  pacified  your  fears  at 
least." 

Fitzgerald  was,  at  that  moment,  as  well  as  his  colonel,  in  a 
position  of  some  awkwardness.  We  have  seen  how  confident 
Coates  was  in  his  securities.  How  he  could  jeer  our  young 
Irishman  about  his  amours.  As  we  have  said,  he  had  just  been 
mouthing  about  Cupid  and  Hymen,  in  the  poetical  slang  —  for 
poets  of  an  imitative  school  are  all  so  many  slangu-hangers  — 
repeaters  of  a  stereotyped  phraseology  —  when  Armstrong  burst 
upon  him  —  no  drum  beaten,  no  bugle  sounded,  no  shot  fired 
from  the  rear-guard  to  give  him  \vaniinj.1;  «•<'  Ins  danger.  Arm- 


PURSUIT  —  THE   SKRIMMAGE   AT   QUINBY.  337 

strong  never  stopped  for  stay  or  hinderance,  but  dashed  over  the 
bridge  at  the  head  of  his  section,  and  threw  himself  headlong 
upon  the  little  group  who  had  charge  of  the  British  howitzer. 

His  headlong  audacity  was  in  fact  only  a  proper  prudence. 
The  howitzer,  with  its  jaws  charged  with  grape,  confronting 
him,  and  covering  the  bridge,  the  port-five  burning,  and  ready 
for  use,  allowed  him  not  a  moment  of  respite  for  thought  or 
hesitation.  His  policy  was  to  seize  the  piece,  take  advantage  of 
the  surprise  which  he  had  occasioned,  and  cut  down  the  gunners ; 
;uid  so  thinking,  if  he  thought  at  all,  he  dashed  recklessly  over 
the  rickety  planks  which  had  been  loosened  from  the  sleepers, 
in  readiness  to  be  thrown  off  with  the  passage  of  the  baggage 
and  the  rear-guard. 

The  audacity  of  Armstrong  was  temporarily  successful.  Had 
Lee  been  present  to  support  him,  with  the  legion,  the  success 
would  have  been  complete.  The  artillerists  in  charge  of  the 
piece,  as  well  as  their  officer,  taken  by  surprise,  had  not  time  to 
apply  the  match,  and  were  summoned  instantly  to  defend  them 
selves.  Armstrong  had  been  followed,  under  a  like  impulse, 
by  Lieutenant  Carrington,  of  the  legion ;  and  he,  in  turn,  by 
Colonel  Maham,  and  Captain  Macaulay,  of  Marion's.  The  two 
first  were  followed  by  their  sections.  •  The  third  section  was 
arrested  in  the  leap  by  the  fact  that  their  predecessors  had  dis 
lodged  the  planks  of  the  bridge  by  the  desperate  plunges  of 
their  horses,  and  that  a  wide  gulf  separated  the  parties,  the 
deep  dark  water  of  the  creek,  rolling  between.  It  was  when 
the  third  section  came  to  a  halt  that  Maham  and  Macaulay  forced 
their  horses  to  the  leap.  But  at  this  very  moment  an  unseen 
enemy  started  up,  almost  from  beneath  the  bridge,  in  a  working 
party  set  to  complete  its  destruction.  These  delivered  a  fire 
under  which  Maham's  horse  fell  dead.  Two  of  Lee's  dragoons 
on  the  opposite  side  were  slain  at  the  same  fire;  the  chasm  in 
the  bridge  had  been  made  wider,  and  the  efforts  of  Lee  wto 
had  now  rejoined  his  third  section,  seemed  altogether  unavailing 
to  repair  the  bridge,  even  for  temporary  use.  His  two  section!, 
with  Maham  and  Macaulay,  seemed  cut  off  from  all  succor,  and 
in  the  power  of  the  enemy. 

But  then*  audacity  was  continued,  the  result  now  of  their 
peculiarly  perilous  j'osition.  In  a  moment  they  drove  the  artil- 


338  EUTAW. 

lerists  from  the  howitzer,  and  assailed  the  small  British  party 
at  the  spot.  These,  headed  by  Coates  and  Fitzgerald,  had 
drawn  their  swords,  cheered  on  their  few  followers,  shouted  to 
the  regiment  along  the  causey,  and,  seeking  temporary  shelter 
behind  a  wagon  which  had  crossed,  bearing  some  sick  and 
wounded  officers,  they  skilfully  opposed  their  small  swords  tc 
the  threatening  sabres  of  the  partisans.  These  would  have 
been  of  little  help  without  the  cover  of  the  wagon,  but  with 
this  defence,  and  the  exercise  of  great  activity,  and  the  most 
vigilant  eyes,  they  succeeded  in  prolonging  the  defence  till  they 
could  receive  succor  from  their  troops.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  causey  was  crowded  with  combatants,  and  a  desperate  hand- 
t,~--hand  conflict  took  place;  a  wild  melee,  showing  a  dozen  or 
aore  separate  duels,  after  the  fashion  of  the  middle  ages,  in  a 
•:?gular  tournament  a  V entrance.  But  such  a  conflict  could  not 
long  continue,  All  Avould  depend  upon  the  ability  of  the 
partisans  to  cross  the  bridge ;  and  of  this  there  was  now  little 
prospect.  Without  succor,  our  dashing  cavaliers,  isolated  from 
their  companions,  must  succumb.  Thus  far  they  had  lost  a  few 
dragoons,  but  the  officers  remained  unhurt.  The  panic  of  the 
British  had  now  ceased.  In  the  first  moment  of  alarm,  believing 
that  the  whole  force  of'the  Americans  were  upon  them,  and 
conscious  of  their  total  inability,  from  their  closely-packed  order 
along  the  narrow  causey,  to  receive  them,  they  had  hurried  for 
ward  in  inextricable  confusion.  Had  the  legion  cavalry  crossed, 
.or  ha-1  Maham's  command  been  able  to  do  so,  there  could  have 
beer  but  one  r2sult,  in  utter  defeat  and  ruin.  But  the  Fates 
vere  against  our  friends  —  the  Fates,  and  something  in  them 
selves.  The  British  recovered.  The  panic  was  arrested.  Strag- 
£.lvig  bodies  forced  their  way  back;  the  fight  became  hotter. 
Our  troopers  were  no  longer  the  assailants,  and  when  they 
Itok'ed  up  the  causey,  and  beheld  the  human  billows  rolling  to- 
v/ard  them,  and  looked  behind  them  to  see  the  impossibility  of 
getting  any  succor  from  their  friends,  they  felt  that  but  one 
duty  remained  to  them  —  to  effect  their  escape  if  possible. 
Neither  their  coolness  nor  courage  abandoned  them  at  this 
moment.  They  felt  that  but  one  hope  of  escape  was  left  thorn, 
to  charge  through  the  straggling  masses  along  the  causey, 
and  gain  the  woods,  whence  they  could  make  their  wa}  inU 


PURSUIT — THE  SKUIMMAGE   AT   QUINBY.  339.,. 

the  swamp.  They  felt  very  sure  that  the  British  would  never 
fire  upon  them,  through  a  natural  dread  of  shooting  their  own 
officers  whom  they  left  behind  them  on  the  causey  —  felt  sure 
that  no  arm  would  be  stretched  out  to  arrest  their  steeds^under 
the  spurred  and  goaded  violence  of  their  headlong  rush  —  and 
knew  that  the  enemy  had  no  cavalry  with  which  to  pursue. 
Aii  instant  sufficed  for  these  reflections,  a  word  to  make  them 
simultaneously  felt  by  their  comrades,  and,  sounding  their  bugles 
with- a  lively  trill  of  defiance,  they  wheeled  about  from  the  foes 
with  whom  they  had  been  contending,  and  dashed  headlong  up 
the  causey.  Right  and  loft  -ne  enemy's  infantry  —  a  strag 
gling  mass  —  gave  v/ay,  while  the  gallant  troopers  rushed  through 
their  masses,  scattering  them  from  side  t:  side.  The  moment 
they  reached  the  highlands  they  wheeled  nto  the  thickets  on 
their  left,  and  escaped  by  heading  the  sb.sam.  Never  was  a 
brave  determination  more  gallantly  carried  into  execution. 


NOTE. — In  the  Life  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  by  the  poet,  Moore,  he 
has  fallen  into  some  mistakes  in  respect  to  his  subject,  in  connection  with  this 
spirited  little  affair,  and  in  respect  to  the  events  themselves,  which  we  propose 
to  correct  for  the  benefit  of  future  editors  of  the  poet's  writings.  Moore 
represents  his  hero  as  being  with  the  rear-guard  on  the  occasion,  and  as  check 
ing  Lee  in  his  demonstrations  upon  it.  He  does  not  indeed,  say  that  he 
saved  the  guard  and  the  baggage,  but  he  leaves  this  to  be  inferred ;  and  this 
inference  will  be  drawn  from  his  statement  by  every  one  who  reads  the  pas 
sage  iu  ignorance  of  the  events,  ilo  is  right  in  representing  Lord  Edward 
as  at  the  bridge,  and  as  being  spiritedly  engaged  in  covering  it;  but  he  again 
misrepresents  him  as  the  person  in  command  at  this  spot ;  when,  in  fact, 
Colonel  Coates  himself  was  present,  and  to  his  presence  zur  historian  as 
cribes  much  of  the  success  of  the  British  !.n  saving  the  army.  Fitzgerald 
was  in  the  rear  of  the  main  body,  but  tr_P,  rear-guard  and  baggage  were  a  mile 
in  his  rear,  and  these  were  not  saved,,  b"*.*  lest;  the  Americans  making  large 
booty  on  the  occasion ;  capturing  the  army  chest,  with  all  its  treasure,  a 
thousand  guineas,  with  a  large  body  of  stores  besides,  of  the  most  useful 
description.  The  poet  again  mistakes  when  he  represents  the  conduct  of 
Fitzgerald  in  this  affair  as  first  commending  him  to  the  favor  of  Lord  Raw- 
don,  and  securing  his  appointment  as  aid-de-camp  to  his  lordship,  in  his 
march  to  the  relief  of  Ninety-Six.  The  biographer,  in  this  statement,  puts 
the  cart  a  long  way  before  the  horse.  The  siege  of  Ninety-Six,  and  its  relief, 
preceded  the  battle  at  Qidnbij  by  no  less  than  four  iveeks.  The  assault  upon 
Ninevy-six  was  made  by  Greene,  on  the  1 8th  day  of  June ;  the  battle  of 
Quinby  took  place  on  the  17th  of  July.  Lord  Edward's  regiment,  with  two 
others,  from  Ireland,  reached  Charleston  on  the  2d  of  June,  and,  for  the  first 


EUTAW. 

time,  u  fib  riled  Rawdon  the  means  by  which  to  attempt  the  relief  of  Ninety 
Six.  These  troops  were  not  designed  for  employment  in  South  Carolina ; 
but  the  exigencies  of  Rawdon  required  that  he  should  divert  them  from  their 
original  destination.  As  soon  as  possible  after  their  arrival  from  Ireland,  he 
set  out  on  his  march,  at  the  head  of  two  of  these  regiments,  and  other  troops. 
Ik-  entered  Ninety-Six  on  the  21st  of  June,  three  days  after  the  assault  of 
Greene,  which  had  been  precipitated  to  anticipate  the  arrival  of  Rawdon.  It 
is  thus  shown  that  Lord  Edward  won  the  favor  of  Rawdon  bv  services  undei 
his  own  eye,  and  was  his  aid  a  considerable  time  before  the  event  at  Quinby 
v,hich  the  biographer  describes  as  securing  him  this  compliment. 


-'WO    KINT)S   OF    FISH   WERE   CONFOUNDED,        oil 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

SHOWING    HOW    COLONEL   SINCLAIR,  SENIOR,    CONFOUNDED   TWO 
VERY    DIFFERENT    KINDS    OF    FISH. 

THERE  was  great  blame  somewhere.  The  affair  had  been 
very  much  mismanaged.  The  game  was  certainly  in  the  hands 
of  our  partisans.  The  surprise  of  Ooates,  with  the  main  body, 
had  been  as  complete  as  that  of  his  rear-guard.  Sumter,  in  his 
official  report  of  it,  says  :  "  If  the  whole  party  had  charged  across 
the  bridge,  they  would  have  come  upon  the  enemy  in  such  a 
state  of  confusion,  while  extricating  themselves  from  the  lane, 
that  they  must  have  laid  down  their  arms."  And  so  we  say. 
But  we  have  shown  why  the  whole  party  did  not  charge  across 
the  bridge ;  and  will  not  stop  to  inquire,  here,  upon  whom  the 
blame  of  this  failure  should  fall.  An  inquiry  might  tend  to 
rob  some  favorite  of  a  rose  from  his  chaplet,  but  we  have  no 
wish  to  do  this  discourtesy,  at  this  late  period  in  the  history. 
No  censure,  now,  can  change  the  results.  Let  us  rather  look 
to  some  other  parties  to  our  drama,  whom,  not  participants  in 
the  action,  we  have  left  behind  us  in  a  very  uncomfoi  iable  con 
dition  of  anxiety  and  apprehension. 

Our  baron  and  his  two  daughters  were  beginning  to  experi 
ence  all  the  troubles  of  their  peculiar  situation.  As  troop  after 
troop  drew  nigh,  and  dashed  past  his  vehicle,  the  veteran  be 
gan  to  fidget  at  a  most  distressing  rate.  Mind  and  body  began 
to  be  equally  sore  and  uneasy.  The  twinges  of  the  gout  be 
came  more  frequent,  and,  ready  to  scream  half  the  time  with 
physical  pain,  lie  was  equally  in  the  mood  to  roar  with  mental 
distemperaturc.  He  could  no  longer  doubt  that  all  these  troop- 


312  EUTAtf. 

ers  were  rebels.  He  saw  it  in  the  ragged  costume,  the  QU 
strange  attempts  at  uniform,  the  sprigs  of  green  cedar  in  the  ca2 ;. 
of  Marion's  men  ;  in  a  thousand  little  details  which  stripped  the 
matter  of  all  uncertainty.  The  excitement  of  old  Sinclair  in 
creased  duly  every  moment.  He  swore  his  most  famous  oaths 
He  started  up,  till  admonished  by  an  extra  twinge  in  foot  or 
ankle,  when  he  laid  himself  back  in  the  carriage  with  a  groan. 
Then  he  got  down  his  sword,  drew  it  from  the  scabbard,  and 
leaned  it  up  in  a  corner  of  the  vehicle.  The  next  object  were 
his  pistols.  He  fidgetted  till  he  got  these  out  of  the  holsters, 
and  examined  their  primings.  At  this,  Carrie  Sinclair  thought 
it  necessary  to  interpose. 

"  Father,  father  !  This  will  never  do  !  What  can  you  do 
with  these  pistols  ?  How  can  anything  that  you  can  do  avail, 
except  to  endanger  our  safety  1  Oh  !  father,  remember  your 
children  —  see  this  poor  child,  and  be  prudent."  She  had 
drawn  little  Lottie  into  her  lap  and  held  her  firmly  back  in 
the  carriage.  "  These  people  do  not  seem  disposed  to  harm  us. 
See,  they  pass  us  without  stopping  to  look  or  speak.  If  you 
show  your  weapons  you  may  provoke  them  to  offence." 

"  You  are  right !"  answered  the  veteran  with  a  groan,  as  he 
thrust  back  his  pistols  into  the  pocket  of  the  coach.  "  But,  oh  ! 
that  I  could  mount  a  horse  once  more  !  Strike  one  more  blow 
for  Britain  before  I  die.  The  bloody  remorseless  rebels ! 
D — n  their  impudence !  See  how  audaciously  they  ride,  as  if 
the  royal  banner  was  not  floating  in  their  paths,  and  a  thousand 
brave  British  hearts  rallying  round  for  its  defence.  Would  I 
could  lift  an  arm  once  more  in  the  same  glorious  cause.  Ha  ! 
they  are  at  it !  It  begins  !  Now  we  shall  see  !  ha  !  ha  !  We 
shall  see  how  rebellion  carries  itself  when  the  royal  lion  rouses 
and  roars  in  vengeance  !" 

The  shots  from  the  bridge  were  now  audible. 

"  You  shall  see  how  the  British  lion  will  drive  these  runagate 
rebels  even  as  the  dog  drives  the  sheep  !" 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  my  father !  There  are  other  troops  ap^ 
preaching." 

A  deep  voice  was  heard  behind  them. 

"No  bugles!  on  silently.  Forward!"  And  a  troop  went 
along  at  the  gallop. 


HOW    TWO    KINDS   OF    PISH    WF.llK    CONFOUNDED.         £43 

11  Where  tlic  devil  can  Fitzgerald  be  all  this  time  ?  He  should 
•iave  let  us  known  what  was  going  on." 

"  You  are  unreasonable,  sir  !  How  could  he  with  this  host 
behind  him  ?" 

"  Sheep  !  sheep  !  A  gallant  dash  backward,  of  but  one  hun 
dred  good  British  dragoons  would  demolish  or  scatter  the  whole 
herd." 

"  Hardly,  sir ;  for  the  rear-guard,  if  you  remember,  consisted 
of  a  hundred  men  and  they  appear  to  have  been  conquered  and 
captured." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  suppose  such  nonsense  1  They 
have  probably  taken  another  path." 

At  this  moment  a  young  officer  approached,  and  pausing  for 
an  instant,  said  to  Sam,  the  driver  —  giving  but  a  look  as  he 
spoke  to  the  inmates  of  the  carriage : — 

"  Drive  aside,  old  fellow,  and  clear  the  track.  You  are  in 
the  way."  And  he  rode  on. 

"  We  are  in  the  king's  highway  !"  roared  the  veteran  within, 
as  he  caught  up  his  sword,  and  thrust  the  point  toward  the  win 
dow.  Fortunately,  the  action  was  not  seen. 

"Father  !  father  !"  cried  Carrie,  as  she  grasped  the  arm  that 
held  the  sword,  and  gently  took  the  weapon  from  his  clutch. 

"I  am  truly  an  old  fool!"  said  the  old  man  meekly,  while 
the  big  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes.  "My  son!  my  son!  Oh! 
Willie  Sinclair,  you  have  brought  me  to  my  knees  —  to  my 
knees." 

We  may  see  what  was  the  associated  idea  in  the  mind  of  the 
old  man  from  this  speech.  His  loyalty  was  a  thing  of  doubt 
while  his  son  was  a  leader  among  the  rebels. 

The  commotion  increased.  The  steady  tread  of  infantry  was 
heard  behind  them,  with  an  occasional  dash  of  steeds.  At  this 
moment  the  horses  of  Sinclair  began  to  share  the  excitement 
of  their  master.  The  clash  of  arms,  the  rush  of  steeds,  the 
shouts  of  men,  the  sharp  shot  in  front,  all  tended  to  make  them 
restiff  and  uneasy ;  and  old  Sam,  the  driver,  was  himself  quite 
too  much  confounded  by  the  scene,  to  be  master  either  of  him 
self  or  the  horses.  Without  the  baron's  being  conscious  of  what 
his  driver  or  his  beasts  were  doing,  the  carriage  had  been 
stopped,  Sam  had  drawn  up  as  closely  as  possible  to  the  road 


844  BUT  AW. 

side,  leaving  as  much  space  clear  to  the  troopers  as  he  could 
well  afford ;  and  this  arrest  of  their  motion  seemed  to  increase 
their  disquiet.  It  was  only  while  the  animals  began  to  bound 
and  curvet,  snort  and  rear,  that  our  baron  was  apprized  of  the 
fact  that  the  carriage  was  no  longer  in  motion. 

"  What  the  d — 1  do  you  stop  for,  you  old  rascal  ?  Drive  up, 
I  say,  and  let's  see  what's  going  on.  Better  be  in  the  thick  of 
it,  than  remain  in  this  terrible  doubt  and  uncertainty." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Do  not,  dear  father,  go  any  nearer.  Let  us  rath 
er  turn  aside  into  the  woods  and  escape  from  it." 

"Do,  papa,  that's  a  dear  papa!"  and  the  little  Lottie,  quite 
scared  at  the  scene,  added  her  entreaties  to  those  of  her  sister. 

"  What !  are  you  a  coward  too  ?  Pooh !  pooh !  There 
would  be  no  danger,  once  under  the  king's  banner." 

•*  But  there's  no  getting  under  that,  father :  there  are  thou 
sands  of  men  in  the  path." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  not  five  hundred  !  We  are  only  a  mile  from 
the  bridge.  So  Fitzgerald  told  us.  Drive  on,  you  rascal." 

But  Sam  did  not  obey. 

"  Look  yer,  maussa,  'tis  no  use.  Der's  no  gitting  along  t'rough 
dese  armies  and  de  bosses  is  no  longer  altogedder  sensible  of 
what's  to  be  doing.  Ef  I  could  break  t'rough  de  woods  now  !" 

"  The  cowardly  old  rascal !  He's  afraid  of  a  bullet  through 
his  worthless  old  carcass.  I  should  have  brought  Benny  Bow- 
legs.  He's  afraid  neither  of  man  nor  beast,  neither  shot  nor 
devil.  Oh  !  for  Benny  Bowlegs.  To  have  to  deal  with  a  scamp 
that's  afraid  of  his  shadow  !  Drive  on,  you  sooty  son  of  Satan 
—  on,  sirrah,  till  I  tell  you  when  to  stop." 

"  Why,  look  yer,  maussa — " 

"Do  not  seek  to  master  me,  you  rascal !" 

"  Nay,  dear  father,  Sam  is  right." 

"  Right !  Everybody's  right  but  ine,  I  suppose !  I'm  al 
ways  wrong.  Of  all  Lear's  daughters,  there  was  but  one-  -" 

"And  her  father  would  not  understand  her  /"  added  Carrie. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her,  silenced  for  a  moment — but  re 
covered  himself  and  said  sarcastically  :  "  Oh  !  you  are  my  Cor 
delia,  then."  He  turned  from  her  in  the  next  moment,  and 
roared  out  to  Sam  —  "Drive  on,  rascal,  though  you  run  your 
wheels  over  the  necks  of  a  thousand  rebels." 


HOW   TWO    KIXD3   OF   FISH    WERE    CONFOUNDED.        345 

Sam  moodily  bobbed  liis  head  to  one  side,  and  shook  out  hie 
reins.  One  of  his  horses  L«gan  again  to  plunge. 

"  You  see,  maussa,"  cried  the  fellow. 

"  Give  him  the  whip,  you  skunk  !  Don't  be  afraid  of  him, 
or  we're  gone." 

But  Sam  hesitated,  and  was  for  a  moment  saved  from  personal 
responsibility  by  the  interposition  of  another. 

"  Back  with  your  horses,  fellow  !"  cried  one  of  Marion's  troop 
ers,  dashing  along,  and  speaking  as  he  passed  —  "back,  into  the 
woods  with  you — anywhere  — but  get  out  of  the  way  !" 

The  words  were  distinctly  heard,  and  the  veteran  shouted  — 
lie  knew  not  what  —  in  defiance. 

"  Oh,  father,  be  quiet !     They  will  hear  you." 

"  Let  'em  hear,  d — n  'em  !  I  want  'em  to  hear,  that  I  loathe 
'em,  and  curse  'em,  and  defy  'em." 

And  he  got  hold  of  his  pistols  as  he  roared  out  thus  impru 
dently.  The  trooper,  meanwhile,  who  had  given  Sam  his  order 
to  betake  himself  to  the  woods,  sped  forward  without  stopping 
to  see  whether  he  was  obeyed  or  not.  Others  followed.  The 
horse  snorted  with  increasing  terror.  His  companions  began  to 
give  signs  of  sympathy.  They  were  catching  the  panic  conta 
gion.  The  rush  of  another  squadron  from  the  rear  increased 
their  terrors,  and,  wheeling  and  plunging,  they  had  brought  the 
carriage  nearly  across  the  road,  almost  closing  up  the  passage. 
An  officer  dashed  up  at  full  speed,  halted  so  suddenly  as  to 
throw  his  own  steed  upon  his  haunches,  and,  catching  the  rein 
of  the  restiff  beast  short  at  the  head,  wheeled  him  rapidly  out 
of  the  track. 

"  Into  the  woods,  blockhead,"  cried  the  stranger,  "  before  you 
are  torn  to  pieces  !" 

In  the  same  moment,  the  officer  wheeled  about,  and  showed 
himself  at  the  carriage-window.  He  was  about  to  speak  —  was 
speaking  —  when,  quick  as  lightning,  old  Sinclair,  who  had 
again  caught  up  his  pistols,  thrust  one  full  at  his  head,  and 
pulled  the  trigger.  The  explosion  followed ;  the  officer  reeled 
under  it,  his  cap  fell  off,  and,  as  he  cried  — 

"  Good  God  !  my  father  !— " 

Carrie  Sinclair  recognised  her  brother. 

15* 


846  EUTAW. 

"Oh,  father,  it  is  Willie!  You  have  slaLi  him — -yc/u  have 
slain  my  brother  !"  0 

"  Willie  !  Willie  Sinclair  ! —  my  son  Willie  !" 

It  was  all  the  old  man  could  speak.  He  was  seized  with  a 
skiver  ing-fit,  dropped  the  other  pistol,  which  he  probably  would 
have  used  also,  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  shrieked 

his  agony  of  soul !  The  voice  of  Willie,  the  next  moment, 
reassured  the  party. 

"Be  not  alarmed,"  he  said;  "I  am  unhurt!"  and  he  passed 
his  hands  over  his  forehead,  which  seemed  to  have  been  simply 
scorched  and  blackened  by  the  flame,  or  wadding  from  the  pis 
tol.  An  inch  higher,  the  bullet  had  gone  through  his  cap  ! 

"On,  Colonel  Sinclair!"  said  Marion,  riding  up.  "You 
should  be  with  your  command.  Who  are  these  ?" 

"  It  is  my  father  and  sisters,  general,"  replied  Willie. 

"  Your  father  and  sisters  !  What  are  they  doing  here  ?  Bui, 
get  them  into  the  woods,  out  of  the  track,  or  they  may  taste  the 
grape  from  the  enemy's  howitzer.  Back  them  out,  as  soon  as 
possible ;  we  must  have  a  clear  track.  Spur  onward,  as  soon 
as  you  have  done  this  duty,  and  rejoin  your  command.  Every 
moment  now  is  worth  a  score  of  lives." 

And  Marion  rode  forward. 

"  Oh,  my  son !  oh,  Willie !  have  I  been  mad  enough  to  at 
tempt  your  life  ?" 

Such  was  the  piteous  appeal  of  the  old  man,  who  was  cov 
ered  with  a  cold  sweat,  and  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  No,  sir.  You  knew  not  whom  you  shot  at,  or  what  you 
did !" 

"  That's  true  !  I'm  a  madman  !  This  girl  is  wiser  by  far. 
She  got  me  to  put  down  the  accursed  pistols,  and  I  really  knew 
not  that  I  had  again  taken  them  out,  until  I  had  fired.  Oh, 
my  son,  had  I  slain  you  with  the  one,  I  had  surely  slain  myself 
with  the  other  !" 

"  Thank  God  that  no  harm's  done  !  But  we  must  get  you 
hence.  —  Wheel  into  the  woods,  Sam.  There  is  room  enough 
for  you,  if  you  manage  well.  Don't  heed  those  saplings.  There; 
drive  ahead !" 

He  was  obeyed.  The  vehicle  was  got  into  the  woods,  and, 
making  a  difficult  circuit,  wnn  carried  out  of  the  press,  and  some 


HOW    TWO    KINDS   OF   FISH    WERE    CONFOUNDED.        o47 

small  distance  into  the  rear  of  the  moving  parties.  The  horses 
seemed  to  know  the  voice  of  Willie,  who  rode  his  own  blooded 
charger  beside  them,  and  thus  timed  their  paces,  and  soothed 
their  disquiet. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  my  son?"  asked  the  old  man  feebly  — 
•'  where  am  I  to  go,  Willie  ?  Say  —  order  !" 

"  Home,  sir,  home  !  and  remain  quiet,  till  you  hear  from  me 
I  will  send  a  friend  to  see  you  out  of  the  camp ;  but  I  must 
leave  you  now  —  and  you,  dear  Carrie  — and  you,  little  Lottie 
—  and  I  do  so  very  sorrowfully.  I  would  you  were  safe  at 
home !  You  are  not  safe  here.  Your  most  secure  route,  just 
now,  is  honteward.  Go  thither  !  Do  not  turn  aside,  on  any 
pretence,  or  at  any  suggestion.  God  bless  and  protect  you, 
father — sisters  !  God  be  with  us  all !" 

And  he  darted  away,  trusting  himself  to  no  further  speech. 
The  sisters  wept  —  the  father  groaned  in  agony  and  self- 
reproach. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  what  a  narrow  escape  I  have  had !  To  think 
that  my  hand  should  have  aimed  at  the  life  of  my  own  son  !" 

"  But,  father,  you  did  not  mean  it." 

"  Oh,  Carrie,  how  would  that  lessen  my  agony  had  he  fallen  ? 
I  am  an  old  fool !  What  had  I  to  do  with  pistols  ?  what  could 
I  do  with  them  1  It  was  all  owing  to  that  rascal  Sam.  Why 
did  he  stop  the  horses  ?" 

"  Could  he  do  better,  my  dear  father  ?  Would  you  have  had 
him  carry  us  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  ]  Do  not  be  unjust." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  there  has  been  any  fight  ?  These 
rascally  Irish  have  run,  the  besotted  villains !  And  poor  Fitz 
gerald  !  he  has  probably  fallen  a  victim  to  their  treachery  and 
cowardice." 

"  Nay,  dear  father,  this  is  not  likely.  It  is  evident  that  there 
has  been  little  fighting  as  yet.  You  see  that  the  main  body  of 
the  Americans  have  not  yet  gone  forward.  You  may  see  a 
squad  of  them  now,  through  the  woods;  and  look  —  there  is  an 
officer  riding  toward  us." 

"Where1?  who?" 

"  Here,  sir,  on  the  right." 

"  What !  that  big  fellow  1  Why,  he's  a  mountain  on  horse 
back  !" 


848  EDTAW. 

"  But  liis  horse  seems  big  enough  for  the  mountain." 

"Yes,  indeed  !  It  is  the  largest  horse,  I  think,  I  ever  saw. 
But  what  a  huge  man  to  be  a  dragoon!  and  what  a  belly  for 
an  officer  to  carry!  —  and  yet,  see  what  a  monstrous  girth  he 
w o.irs  !  And,  what  a  uniform  !" 

"  Hush,  sir  !  he  approaches." 

The  officer  rode  up,  and,  bowing  politely,  said,  in  musical 
tones — 

"  Colonel  Sinclair,  I  believe." 

"  At  your  service.     And  who  the  devil  are  you,  sir  ?-" 

This  rude  speech  was  prompted — we  must  say  apologetically 
—  by  a  sudden  and  sharp  twinge  of  the  gout  at  this  moment. 
But  the  stranger  was  prompt  to  reply  in  the  same  spirit. 

"The  devil  himself,  sir,  at  your  service:  but  —  you  will 
please  remember,  my  dear  young  lady,"  addressing  himself  to 
Carrie  —  "that,  whatever  his  other  demerits,  the  devil  has  the 
reputation  of  being  a  gentleman." 

"  An  assurance,"  answered  Carrie,  with  a  smile,  "  which  should 
surely  reconcile  us  to  his  representative." 

"You  are  a  woman  of  sense,  madam  —  a  rarity  among  your 
sex.  You  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  do  nothing  to  forfeit 
the  social  reputation  of  my  principal." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  our  baron,  whom  the  gout  was  troubling  at 
this  moment  especially,  and  who,  as  an  old  aristocrat,  was  ex 
ceedingly  impatient  of  the  familiar  tone  which  the  stranger 
employed  when  speaking  with  his  daughter  —  angry,  indeed, 
with  Carrie  herself  for  the  civil  speech  with  which  she  had  sim 
ply  designed  to  do  away  with  any  ill  effects  t.hat  might  have 
arisen  from  the  rude  apostrophe  of  her  father  — "  well,  sir,  to 
what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  this  interruption  to  my  peaceful 
progress  ?" 

"  Peaceful  progress,"  quoth  the  stranger  coolly.  "  My  ven 
erable  friend,"  he  continued,  "  I  do  not  come  hither  to  retard 
or  prevent  your  very  peaceful  progress,  but  if  possible  to  ren 
der  it  more  so.  I  promised  your  son  to  see  you  safe  beyond 
our  lines." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir;  you  are  the  gentleman  that  he  promised  to 
send  me.  I  thank  you,  sir  —  I  thank  you  very  much.  Forgive 
sue,  if  I  have  seemed  to  you  peevish  and  uncivil,  but  I  am  a 


HOW   TWO    KINDS   OF    FISH    WERE   CONFOUNDED.        349 

victim  to  the  gout,  sir,  and  am  besides  in  a  devilish  bad 
humor." 

"  No  apologies,  my  dear  sir,  further.  Both  of  these  are  gen 
tlemanly  privileges.  I  respect  them.  I  am  glad  to  believe, 
my  dear  young  lady,  that  you  are  not  troubled  with  the 
gout  also." 

"  And  why  should  you  suppose  her  free  from  it  ?"  growled 
the  baron. 

"  Simply,  because,  as  a  lady,  she  ought  to  enjoy  neither  of 
these  gentlemanly  privileges.  I  can  answer  for  it,  sir,  that  she 
gladly  yields  the  monopoly  to  you  of  the  other  gentlemanly 
privilege." 

The  baron  growled  good-humoredly  —  "Do  not  dwell,  Fir, 
upon  my  rudeness.  You  are  a  wit,  I  see,  and  must  suffer  your 
self  to  be  opposed  by  other  weapons  than  your  own.  Few  per 
sons  practise  well  at  the  foils  with  this  class  of  person.  It  is 
fortunate  for  his  majesty's  cause,  I  fancy,  that  you  are  not 
allowed  to  lead  in  this  attack." 

"  Your  sagacity,  Colonel  Sinclair,  or  your  instinct's,  it  matters 
not  which,  has  conducted  you  to  a  truth  which  revelation  would 
hardly  suffer  the  American  Congress  to  receive.  It  is  fortunate 
for  his  majesty's  cause  that  I  was  not  the  leader  in  this  expe 
dition,  or  that  I  was  not  permitted  to  select  the  leader.  The 
results,  I  promise  you,  would  have  been  very  different.  We 
should  not  have  allowed  the  British  army  to  slip  through  our 
fingers." 

This  was  said  with  a  sort  of  savage  gravity,  as  if  the  speaker 
solemnly  felt  it  all,  and  felt,  besides,  that  not  only  a  great  wrong 
had  been  done  to  himself,  but  that  a  serious  mischief  had  result 
ed  also  to  the  country. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  not  sure  but  that  you  might  have  done  as 
well,  or  better,  than  those  who  do  lead  your  troops ;  but  you 
will  permit  me  to  hint  that  it  is  hardly  possible  that  any  leader 
could  have  secured  you  success  against  the  troops  of  Britain.  I 
infer,  you  perceive,  from  your  words,  that  you  are  in  a  difficult 
situation  —  what  the  vulgar  call  'a  tight  place' — that,  in  short, 
you  arc  about  to  receive  a  drubbing." 

The  corpulent  captain  lifted  his  eyebrows.  Then  he  laughed 
merrily. 


350  EUTAVV. 

"  My  venerable  friend,  you  never,  I  fancy,  heard  of  Ike  Mas- 
sey's  bulldog?" 

"  You  are  right  in  your  fancy." 

"Well,  sir,  Ike  had  a  bulldog  —  a  famous  bulldog — that 
whipped  all  other  dogs,  and  whipped  all  bulls,  and  Ike  honest 
ly  believed  that  he  could  whip  all  beasts  that  ever  roared  in  the 
valley  of  Bashan.  On  one  occasion,  he  pitted  him  against  a 
young  bull,  whom  he  expected  to  see  him  pull  down  at  the  first 
jerk,  muzzle  and  throttle  in  a  jiffey.  But  it  so  happened  that 
Towser  —  the  name  of  his  dog — had,  in  process  of  «time,  lost 
some  of  his  teeth.  He  did  take  the  bull  by  the  nose,  but  the 
young  animal  shook  the  old  one  off,  and  with  one  stamp  of  his 
hoof  he  crushed  all  the  life  out  of  Towser.  But  Ike,  to  the  day 
of  his  death,  still  believed  in  Towser,  and  swore  that  the  dog 
had  no  fair  play ;  that  the  bull  had  improperly  used  his  hoofs 
on  the  occasion ;  and  that,  in  fact,  having  honestly  taken  his 
enemy  by  the  nose,  according  to  bulldog  science,  the  victory 
must  still  be  conceded  to  him.  Now,  your  faith  in  British  sci 
ence  is  not  unlike  that  of  Ike  Massey  in  his  dogs ;  but  the  bull 
may  safely  concede  the  science,  so  long  as  he  can  stamp  his 
enemy  to  pieces.  We  are  working  just  in  this  fashion  in  our 
fighting  with  the  British.  They  have  the  science,  but  they  are 
losing  the  teeth ;  while  we  are  young  and  vigorous,  lack  the 
science,  and  have  the  strength.  Scientifically,  the  British  whip 
us  in  all  our  contests  ;  but  we  do  an  immense  deal  of  very  in 
teresting  bull-stamping  all  the  while ;  and  it  is  surprising  how 
much  dog-life  we  are  crushing  out  of  the  British  carcass.  As 
for  the  present  affair,  you  are  quite  out  if  you  suppose  that  we 
are  in  any  tight  place.  Our  difficulty  is  that  the  place  is  rather 
a  loose  one.  You  err  equally  in  supposing  that  we  are  about  to 
be  lathered.  Our  difficulty  is  that  the  British  are  running,  and 
we  can't  get  at  them,  on  account  of  a  paltry  creek  with  a  paltry 
bridge  over  it  that  is  not  passable.  It  is  all  owing,  I  am  afraid, 
to  a  poor  apish  trick  of  emulating  British  science,  that  we  haven't 
stamped  the  dog  to  pieces  this  very  day.  We  have  done  a  little, 
however,  toward  taking  the  life  out  of  the  animal.  We  have 
captured  the  rear-guard  of  a  hundred  men,  and  taken  all  the 
baggage  and  the  money -chest." 

"Captured,  without  a  fight!     Captured  a  pack  of  coward*  !M 


HOW   TWO   KINDS   OF   FlBH   WERE   COMPOUNDED.         351 

"No,  no  !  my  venerable  friend,  The  fellows  are  no  cowards 
not  a  man  of  'em ;  but  they  had  no  such  love  for  British  rule 
i/nat  you  entertain,  and  gave  themselves  up  to  better  society .n 

"You  should  be  grateful  for  their  civility,  I  think." 

"  I  am.  Do  you  remember  how  the  fat  knight  of  Eastchcap 
conquered  Sir  Coleville  of  the  Dale.  We  felt  on  taking  our 
raw  Irishman  as  Falstaff  did  in  that  conquest,  and  said  to  them 
—  almost  in  his  language  —  'Like  kind  fellows  ye  gave  your 
selves  away,  and  I  thank  ye  for  yourselves."  We  did  not  have 
to  sweat  for  them  any  more  than  Sir  John,  for  his  prisoner. 
But  your  driver  will  please  to  quicken  his  pace.  The  woods 
are  open  enough  here  for  trotting.  I  must  hurry  you  discour 
teously,  for  my  company  has  these  liberal  Irishmen  in  charge, 
and  all  the  baggage ;  and  the  treasure  is  too  precious  to  neglect. 
There  are  some  casks  of  rum,  too,  among  our  stores ;  and  such 
is  the  mortal  antipathy  of  the  Irish  to  this  American  liquor,  that 
they  would  waste  it  even  on  themselves,  sooner  than  not  get 
rid  of  it." 

"  One  question,  sir.     Are  you  not  Captain  Porpoise  ?" 

The  eye  of  our  captain  was  sternly  fastened  for  an  instant, 
upon  the  face  of  the  speaker,  but  there  was  no  sinister  expres 
sion  in  the  baron's  countenance  leading  him  to  suppose  that 
any  offence  was  meant.  Before  he  could  speak,  however,  Car 
rie  Sinclair  corrected  him. 

"  Oh,  father,  it  is  Captain  Porgy  !" 

"  Bless  my  soul,  so  it  is  !  What  have  I  said  !  Pray  forgive 
me,  Captain  Porgy,  it  was  in  pain  and  some  bewilderment,  that 
I  committed  the  mistake.  I  asked  the  name,  sir,  only  through 
most  grateful  motives,  and  as,  from  my  son's  very  favorable  ac 
count  of  you,  at  his  last  visit  to  the  barony,  I  was  anxious  to 
know  /DU." 

'  His  description  seems  to  have  been  a  close  one,  Colonel 
Sinclair,"  answered  Porgy,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  Colonel  Sin 
clair,  your  son,  is  a  friend  whom  I  very  much  honor." 

"  And  he  honors  you  too,  Captain  Porgy,"  interposed  Carrie, 
eagerly,  anxious  to  do  away  with  any  annoyance  that  her 
father's  blunder  may  have  occasioned.  She  continued  —  "And 
my  father,  sir,  and  \ve  all,  will  be  pleased  to  welcome  ycu, 
should  you  ever  do  us  the  kindness  to  visit  the  barony." 


352  BO  TAW. 

"  To  be  sure,  Captain  Porgy,  to  be  sure.  Come  and  see  us. 
Tho'dgli  you  are  a  rebel,  sir,  like  my  sou,  you  are  a  gentiemaD, 
I  believe,  and  a  man  of  honor ;  and  all  that  I  have  ever  heard 
of  you  is  grateful.  Nothing,  I  assure  you,  will  give  me  more 
pleasure,  in  a  social  way,  than  to  have  you  at  my  board ;  and  I 
promise  you,  if  you  will  come,  to  put  some  old  Madeira  before 
you,  of  the  vintage  of  1758,  such  as  is  seldom  broached  now-a- 
days  in  Carolina.  I  pray  you,  sir,  to  believe  that  I  am  sincere, 
and  forgive  that  stupid  blunder  of  mine  in  taking  your  name  in 
vain." 

All  this  was  said  very  heartily,  and  in  just  the  tone  and  strain 
to  make  its  way  to  Porgy's  heart. 

"  To  be  sure,  you  are  sincere,  Colonel  Sinclair.  A  man  with 
the  taste  to  keep  Madeira  twenty  years  in  his  house  must  be  an 
honest  man ;  and  to  broach  it  freely  to  his  guest,  proves  him  a 
gentleman.  You  may  look  to  see  me,  should  occasion  ever  offer. 
As  for  your  mistake  in  my  name,  sir,  let  it  never  trouble  you. 
I  never  take  offence  where  I  am  assured  it  is  unmeant ;  and, 
when  we  look  at  the  facts,  you  really  conveyed  a  compliment. 
In  respect  to  relative  dignity,  the  porpoise  must  take  precedence 
of  the  porgy.  Let  the  matter  never  trouble  you,rny  dear  young 
lady.  I  can  see  that  you  felt  your  father's  mistake  much  more 
than  I  did.  You  are  a  true  woman,  which  means,  that  you  pos 
sess  the  exquisite  sensibility,  which  fears  to  inflict  pain,  much 
more  than  it  fears  suffering.  I  would  I  were  a  young  fellow, 
for  your  sake.  But  we  are  friends,  are  we  not  1"  He  offered 
her  his  hand.  She  gave  hers  readily. 

Oh  !  yes,  sir,  my  brother's  friends  are  all  mine." 

"  Would  they  were  friends  only,"  muttered  the  baron,  s&tto 
voce,  remembering  Peyre  St.  Julien. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Porgy,  "  but  we  must  be  friends  on  our  own 
account,  not  on  your  brother's." 

"  Well,  as  you  please.     I  am  sure  that  you  will  do  me  honor." 

"  I'll  try.  And  now,  my  dear  old  gentleman,"  said  Porgy, 
"  we  have  reached  the  end  of  our  tether.  You  are  here  on  the 
edge  of  the  road.  Yonder  is  the  king's  highway  —  where  the 
king  dare  not  wag  a  finger,  or  cut  a  pigeon-wing.  You  can 
find  your  way  home  without  trouble,  and  I  hope  without  inter 
ruption  WP.  can  do  no  more  for  you  just  now.  Hurry  horn** 


HOW    TWO    KINDS   OF    FISH    WEitE    CONFOUNDED. 

as  fast  as  you  can,  for  the  woods  will  be  in  a  blaze  for  some  time 
to  come.  We  are  smoking  out  tlie  '  varmints.'  God  bless  you 
now,  and  good-by,  It  is  time  for  me  to  see  if  I  can't  find  a 
chance  to  stick  a  finger  in  this  business.  Good-by !" 

And,  thus  separating,  our  baron  pushed  into  the  main  road, 
while  Captain  Porgy  dashed  off  to  join  his  command  at  full 
speed,  as  if  neither  himself  nor  his  gigantic  steed  had  any 
weight  to  carry. 

"  How  he  rides  for  so  large  a  man,"  was  Carrie's  remark. 

"  His  face  is  positively  handsome,"  said  the  father. 

"  But  his  figure,  father." 

"  Ah  !  no  more  of  that,  or  I  shall  be  sure  to  call  him  porpoise 
again  when  next  I  meet  him.  But  what  do  you  stop  for,  Sam  ?" 

"  Whay  for  go  now,  raaussa  ?" 

"  Home,  rascal !  didn't  Willie  Sinclair  tell  you  ?  Ah,  Wrillie ! 
Willie  !  That  I  should  have  lifted  pistol  at  my  son's  head. 
Oh,  Carrie !  if  it  were  possible,  I  should  like  to  kneel,  here 
where  I  am,  and  give  thanks  to  God  for  his  mercies,  that  inter 
posed  and  saved  me  from  my  son's  murder." 

"  The  heart  may  kneel,  father,  as  well  as  the  limbs.  The 
soul  that  fetls,  and  the  mind  that  thinks,  its  obligations  to  God, 
are  already  busy  in  prayer." 

The  carriage  was  soon  out  of  reach  of  bullet  from  the  scene 
of  war,  and  Porgy  was  equally  soon  at  the  head  of  his  com 
pany,  condemned  to  the  dreary  task,  while  battle  was  impend 
ing,  of  keeping  watch  over  captured  men  and  wagons.  Let  us 
leave  both  parties,  and  resume  our  progress  with  the  active 
eowbatau'.s.  . 


864 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

FURTHER    PASSAGKS-AT-ARMS    AT    SHUBRICK'S. 

WE  have  seen  what  was  the  unfortunate  result  of  the  ill- 
managed  attempt*  upon  the  British  at  Quinby  bridge ;  how 
everything  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  had  there  been 
proper  concert  among  the  parties,  and  had  the  forward  troops, 
which  had  dashed  across  the  bridge,  been  properly  supported 
Tliego  were  in  possession  of  the  enemy's  only  field-piece,  a 
howitzer,  loaded  with  grape,  which  might  have  been  whirled 
about  -n  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  made  to  pour  its  fiery 
contents  upon  the  massed  column  of  the  British  as  it  straggled 
up  along,  and  over,  the  narrow  causey.  Had  there  been  no 
pause,  for  deliberation,  at  the  bridge,  no  moments  of  hesitation 
in  following  the  first  two  sections  of  the  legion  dragoons,  a  suf 
ficient  body  could  have  been  thrown  across  to  have  cut  to  pieces 
"lie  small  British  party  at  the  bridge,  turned  the  howitzer  upon 
its  former  owners,  and  swept  the  causey  at  a  single  charge 
We  have  seen  what  were  Sumter's  opinions ;  and  we  may  say, 
par  parenthese,  that  Captain  Porgy  is  no  mean  authority  in  such 
matters.  We  have  heard  his  opinions  also.  But  we  must  not 
dwell  upor  this  sore  sucJ&Lc;  and  would  not.  for  a  moment,  but 
that  we  share  in  Porgy 's  vezation,  who  was  wont  to  say  that 
half  of  the  battles  he  had  £'>>:•?  seen  lost,  were  lost  by  a  petty 
finessing,  when  plain,  lit:::::,  direct,  up  and  down  fighting,  was 
all  that  was  essential. 

But  Sumter  and  Marion  were,  not  the  men  to  give  up  the 
game,  while  it  was  possible  to  find,  or  to  take,  the  trail,  Marion 
happened  upon  a  negro  win.  thought  he  could  show  them  a  way 
across  the  river  swamp,  in  a  place  that  was  passable.  Marion 


FURTHER   PASSAGES-ALARMS   AT   SHUBRICK'S.  356 

immediately  sent  him  forward,  and  closely  followed  upon  his 
heels  with  his  brigade.  But  this  route  was  a  circuitous  one ; 
and,  during  the  delay,  Goates,  having  succeeded  effectually  in 
throwing  the  planks  from  the  bridge,  cutting  off  all  danger 
of  instant  pursuit  from  that  quarter,  retired  at  a  tolerably  quick 
step  to  the  adjoining  plantation  of  Shubrick,  of  which  he  took 
possession.  Having  no  cavalry  himself,  and  not  daring  to 
trust  himself  to  a  further  march,  in  the  face  of  so  powerful  a 
body  of  this  description  of  troops,  as  were  at  his  heels,  he 
resolved  to  convert  the  Shubrick  dwelling  into  a  fortress,  and 
maintain  himself  in  the  position  if  he  could.  The  spot  chosen 
was  very  suitable  to  this  purpose.  The  dwelling-house  was  of 
two  stories,  and  upon  a  rising  ground.  There  were  numerous 
out-houses,  a  picketed  garden,  and  connecting  fences;  of  all 
of  which  the  British  colonel  took  possession ;  arranging  for  bis 
defence  as  rapidly  as  possible.  He  was  thus  covered  against 
cavalry,  and  measurably  from  the  marksmen  of  the  partisans — • 
his  only  two  sources  of  apprehension  at  present.  The  arrival 
of  Sumter's  field-piece,  which  had  been  sent  for,  would  materi 
ally  abridge  these  securities  ;  and  the  quiet  leaguer  of  the  place, 
by  the  numerous  cavalry  of  the  partisans,  would  starve  the 
garrison  into  submission.  But  both  of  these  objects  required 
time,  and  the  delay  might  work  results  such  as  one  could  not 
hope  for,  and  the  other  might  not  expect.  And  a  good  general, 
like  a  good  politician,  looks  to  time,  usually,  as  involving  a  large 
chapter  of  chances,  for,  as  well  as  against !  At  all  events,  there 
would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  surrender  —  "to-morrow,  and 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow." 

The  infantry  of  Sumter's  command  arrived  on  the  ground  at 
three  o'clock,  P.  M.  They  found  Coates'  main  force  drawn  up 
in  a  square  in  front  of  the  dwelling,  his  sharp-shooters  occupy 
ing  the  several  houses  about,  by  which  the  approach  was  com 
manded. 

Sumter  had  very  few  bayonets.  It  wa's  by  no  means  his 
policy,  accordingly,  to  march  up  to  the  assault.  His  game  was 
probably  to  use  the  sort  of  weapons  which  he  had,  in  such  a 
way  as  to  deprive  his  enemy  of  the  full  use  of  those  in  which 
he  was  superior.  He  divided  his  infantry  into  three  bodies- 
His  own  brigade,  under  Colonels  Micldleton,  Polk,  Taylor,  and 


EUTAW. 

Lacy,  advanced  in  front,  under  cover  of  a  row  of  negro-houses ; 
Marion's  brigade,  now  considerably  reduced,  tin-own  into  two 
divisions,  was  ordered  to  advance  on  the  right,  where  there  was 
no  shelter,  but  from  some  common  worm  fences,  and  these  within 
short  musket  range  from  the  houses  which  the  enemy's  sharp 
shooters  occupied.  His  was  to  be  the  hottest  business  evidently. 
The  cavalry,  such  as  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  use  as  gunmen 
at  all,  was  stationed  securely,  at  some  distance  from  the  scene 
of  action,  but  sufficiently  near  to  cover  the  infantry  in  the  event 
of  pursuit. 

We  have  made  a  formal  distinction  between  the  infantry  and 
cavalry  of  Sumter's  command,  as  Sumter  himself  had  done  ir 
this  arrangement  for  battle.  But,  properly  speaking,  the  greatei 
portion  of  his  infantry  were  dismounted  riflemen.  Their  propei 
exercise  was  as  mounted  gunmen ;  a  very  efficient  military  arrr 
in  certain  departments  of  service,  especially  border  and  Indian 
warfare ;  where  the  object  is  to  reach  the  scene  of  action  rap 
idly,  and  then  to  serve,  as  occasion  required,  whether  on  horse 
or  foot ;  to  overtake  a  flying  enemy,  or,  as  riflemen  and  rangers, 
to  oppose  the  red  men  after  a  fashion  of  their  owr.  oy  keen 
knife,  and  deadly  bullet.  Opposed  to  regular  infantry,  to  a 
drilled  foot-soldiery,  armed  with  the  bayonet,  and  without  a 
cover,  they  had  little  real  efficiency,  unless  in  overwhelming 
numbers. 

The  attack  was  begun  at  four  o'clock.  .  It  was  undertaken 
with  the  greatest  alacrity  by  the  brigade  of  Sumter,  which, 
gaining,  at  a  run,  the  cover  of  the  negro-houses  in  front  of  them, 
soon  plied  its  rifles  with  destructive  effect  upon  the  houses,  when 
ever  a  victim  showed  himself  at  door  or  window.  From  this 
cover,  Torn  Taylor,  with  some  forty-five  men  of  his  regiment, 
then  pressed  forward  to  the  fences  on  the  British  left,  whence 
his  fire  soon  became  too  serious  and  fatal  to  suffer  him  to  remain 
long  in  this  position.  Accordingly,  our  dashing  young  Irishman, 
Fitzgerald,  was  soon  seen  pressing  down  upon  him  with  a  de 
tachment,  at  the  pas  dc  charge,  before  which  Taylor's  party 
were  compelled  to  recoil,  and  from  which  they  might  not  have 
escaped,  but  for  the  daring  interposition  of  Marion's  men,  who 
seeing  Taylor's  danger,  rushed  forward  to  his  relief.  Led  by 
Sinclair  and  Singleton,  a  hundred  lithe  and  active  forms,  v;u  ;• 


FURTHER  PASSAGES-AT-AUMS   AT  SHUBRTCK'S.  357 

ously  armed,  mostly  with  rifles,  but  here  and  there  with  musket 
and  bayonet,  and  a  few  with  pikes,  darting  through  a  galling 
lire  from  the  house,  made  their  way  to  the  fences  on  the  right, 
and  rescued  Taylor  from  Fitzgerald's  bayonets  which  were  dri 
ving  them  down  hill.  It  was  Fitzgerald's  turn  to  yield  to  this 
pressure ;  but  another  party  from  the  house,  with  trailing  mus- 
fcets,  hurried  out  to  his  relief;  and  between  these  and  Marion's 
men  the  fight,  in  a  few  moments,  became  desperate  and  hand- 
to-hand.  Those  who  were  armed  with  suitable  weapons,  firmly 
met  the  British,  while  the  riflemen,  under  the  slight  covering  of 
the  open  fences,  maintained  a  steady  and  deadly  fire,  under 
which  the  enemy  slowly  and  sullenly  gave  way.  Another 
sally,  with  similar  results,  satisfied  Coates,  that  it  was  no  part 
of  his  policy  to  risk  his  force  any  longer  in  this  manner  in  the 
open  field ;  and  he  shrunk  back  into  his  cover,  from  which  he 
now  saw  that  no  efforts  of  his  present  assailants  could  dislodge 
him.  Marion's  men  kept  up  the  fight  with  the  temerity  of  vet 
erans.  For  three  mortal  hours,  the  rifle  did  its  work  fatally 
Not  a  head  could  show  itself — not  a  musket  glitter  at  the  win 
dows  of  the  dwelling — that  did  not  draw  its  bullet.  It  was 
dark  before  the  American  general  withdrew  from  a  contest, 
which,  doing  mischief  while  it  lasted,  was  yet  not  of  a  sort  to 
effect  the  conquest  of  the  post.  He  withdrew  his  forces  in  per 
fect  order.  It  was  no  longer  possible  for  him,  indeed,  to  con 
tinue  the  fight,  employing  his  men  as  infantry.  Every  charge 
of  powder  in  Marion's  command  was  exhausted. 

Firing  from  a  house  of  two  stories,  from  doors  and  windows, 
and  a  picketed  garden,  and  better  provided  with  ammunition 
than  the  Americans,  the  British  did  not  suffer  their  assailants 
to  escape  without  some  loss.  The  brunt  of  the  battle  fell  chief 
ly  upon  the  men  of  Marion.  They  had  generously  periled 
themselves  in  the  rescue  of  Taylor ;  but  the  position  which  had 
been  assigned  them  was  one  of  superior  peril.  This  was  the 
subject  of  much  reproach  among  them,  against  the  general  in 
command.  Sumter's  own,  they  murmured,  had  been  spared  and 
economized,  with  the  exception  of  Tom  Taylor's  detachment  of 
:'</rty-livc.  It  is  certain  that  all  who  fell  in  the  action  were 
Mai  ion's;  which  lust,  among  others,  two  veteran  officers,  in 
Colonels  Swinton  and  Baiter,  men  who  had  followed  him  in  -r.-l 


358  EUTAW. 

his  previous  fortunes,  and  over  whose  fate  he  grieved  with  all 
the  deep  sympathies  of  a  friend  and  brother.  But  the  British 
loss  was  far  greater  —  seventy  of  their  men  were  slain  outright, 
twice  that  number  were  wounded.  They  were  in  fact  put  hor* 
dc  combat,  and  must  have  surrendered  at  discretion,  could  tho 
field-piece  of  Lieutenant  Singleton  been  brought  into  the  action; 
It  had  been  sent  for,  but,  when  it  came,  there  was  no  powder, 
Bullets  of  pewter  were  to  be  had  in  tolerable  plenty,  yet  not  ac 
ounce  of  powder.  In  such  trim  were  our  poor  partisans  con 
stantly  compelled  to  go  into  battle. 

That  night  there  was  murmuring  enough  in  the  camp  of  the 
Americans.  There  were  sharp  words  between  Sumter  and  Lee, 
the  former  ascribing  all  the  disappointments  of  the  expedition 
to  the  misconduct  of  the  latter.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance, 
which  the  chroniclers  have  not  sought  to  explain,  why  the 
legion  infantry  were  not  employed  in  the  action  at  Shubrick's 
house.  Only  the  men  of  Sumter  and  Marion  were  engaged. 
Lee's  infantry  must  have  remained  with  the  cavalry,  or  possi 
bly  in  charge  of  the  baggage.  Of  the  action  at  the  house,  his 
own  memoirs  say  not  a  syllable ;  or  just  enough  to  show  that 
he  himself  knew  nothing  about  it.  On  this  occasion  he  ignores 
Sumter's  presence  altogether,  and  leaves  the  reader  to  infer  that 
he  and  Marion  alone  were  in  the  field  ;  yet  Sumter  was  in  com 
mand,  and  present  all  the  while.  Sumter  and  Lee  had  no  lovs 
for  each  other.  Lee's  manners  were  very  offensive,  and  Sumter 
had  several  causes  of  complaint.  He  does  not  spare  his  censure 
in  his  despatches,  and  charges  him  with  having  failed  in  every 
thing  which  he  undertook  during  the  expedition.  In  camp, 
Lee's  conduct  was  very  freely  canvassed.  He  was  said  to  have 
been  far  more  tender  and  careful  of  his  horses  than  of  his  men  j 
and  to  this  tenderness  was  ascribed  the  reluctance  of  the  third 
section  of  his  cavalry,  which  he  led  himself,  to  take  the  leap  at 
the  bridge,  when  Mali  am  and  Macaulay,  of  Marion's,  swept  by 
him  successfully.  To  complete  the  chapter  of  his  offences,  on 
this  occasion,  he  left  the  camp  early  the  next  morning,  without 
leave,  and,  moving  off  for  that  of  Greene,  thus  contributed  to 
lessen  the  chances  of  success  against  Coates,  who  might  have 
been  invested  the  next  day  had  Lee  remained,  to  enable  our 
partisans  to  make  a  complete  leaguer  of  the  post.  As  it  was,  tha 


FURTHER    PASSAGKS-AT-AIUIS    AT   SllUBRICK'S.  359 

partisans  built  their  watch-fires,  and  environed  it  all  night.  It 
was  a  gloomy  watch  in  the  tents  of  Marion,  who  had  to  lament 
two  favorite  officers,  and  a  score  of  men ;  the  only  casualties  of 
the  fight  at  the  house  falling  upon  his  brigade.  Its  daring  ex 
posure  might  well  ha1*  e  led  to  the  loss  of  many  more,  who  were 
under  full  fire  from  doors  and  windows,  and  the  picketed  gar 
den,  for  three  hours,  and  themselves  without  cover,  That  he 
did  not  lose  the  better  part  of  the  force  engaged  is  almost  mirac 
ulous,  and  only  to  be  ascribed  to  the  fact  that  the  British  force- 
consisted  chiefly  of  raw  Irishmen,  who  knew  very  little  of  the 
uses  of  the  gun  as  a  "  shooting-iron." 

But,  small  as  his  loss  was,  it  was  of  serious  concern  in  the 
eyes  of  a  commander  who  was  very  economical  of  life  —  whose 
force  was  usually  too  small  to  suffer  him  to  be  prodigal  in  this 
respect ;  and  the  hour  of  midnight,  assigned  to  the  burial  of  the 
dead  —  favorites  some  —  all  personally  known  to  their  genera. 

—  was  one  of  gloom  and  bitterness.     No  wonder  that  they  felt 
and  spoke  harshly  of  those  to  whose  selfishness  and  indiscretion 
tlieir  losses  were  to  be  ascribed. 

We  need  not  depict  the  mournful  ceremonies  of  a  military- 
Diirial  at  midnight.  The  picture  is  a  fine  one  for  the  romancer, 
as  well  as  for  the  painter  ;  midnight  in  the  great,  gorgeous  for 
ests,  with  a  hundred  torches  flaring  over  the  new-made  grave 

—  the  dead  stretched  out  without  a  shroud  —  the  comrades  who 
have  galloped  and  shouted  with  us  in  the  gay  sunshine  of  that 
very  day--  who  had  rushed  into  battle  with  us  a  hundred  times 

—  but  who  see  us  not  now,  hear  us  not;  will  never  rise  to  blast 
of  bugle  or.  clash  of  steel  again.  Dust  to  dust !  It  need  not  bo 
spoken.  The  action  is  sufficient.  We  hear  the  heavy  sod  as  n 
falls  in  upon  and  shuts  from  our  eyes  the  noble  form  of  our  com 
rade;  we  wave  the  torch  over  him  for  a.  last  look;  then  tun. 
away  to  hide  our  tears,  and  start,  as  at  the  sound  of  the  last 
trump,  when  the  three-fold  volley  6  'er  the  grave  announces  to 
us  that  the  last  fight  of  the  soldier  is  finished ! 

Very  bitter  was  the  talk  in  Marion's  camp  that  night. 
Marion  said  nothing,  but  he  paced  the  rounds  himself,  as  if 
dreading  to  seek  repose.  In  one  part  of  the  bivouac  there  is  a 
group,  all  of  whom  we  knoAv,  discoursing  of  the  events  of  the 
day. 


8t)0  EUTAW. 

"  God  lias  been  too  bountiful  to  us !"  said  Captain  Porgy,  in 
bis  peculiar  manner.  "  He  has  been  too  profligate  of  great 
men.  Tbis  seems  to  have  been  our  curse  always.  Our  great 
men  have  been  too  numerous  for  our  occasions  always.  They 
are  in  each  other's  way.  They  rob  one  another  of  the  sunshine. 
They  behold  in  each  other  only  BO  many  offensive  shadows  that 
pass  between  them  and  glory.  I  think  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  prove  that  this  has  been  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  all  our  dis 
asters.  I  can  enumerate  them  from  the  time  of  Bob  Howe,  who 
was  half-witted ;  Charley  Lee,  who  was  only  fit  to  head  a  charge 
of  cavalry,  no  more ;  and  who,  properly  to  be  prepared  even  for 
this  performance,  should  have  been  invariably  horsewhipped  be 
fore  going  into  action.  And  there  was  old  Lincoln,  who  might 
have  been  a  good  army  nurse,  or  chaplain,  but  should  nevei 
have  been  suffered  to  enter  the  camp  in  any  other  capacity. 
Then  came  Gates  —  but  the  chronicle  is  too  sickening;  and  it 
is  such  blockheads  as  these  that  decry  the  militia.  1  tell  you, 
that  the  instincts  of  the  militia  nose  out  an  imbecile  in  a  week's 
duty,  and  they  naturally  contemn  and  despise  the  authority  in 
which  they  have  no  confidence.  I  don't  wish  to  excuse  the 
faults  of  the  militia.  They  are  improvident.  That  word 
covers  all.  They  waste  time  —  take  no  precautions — have  no 
forethought;  and  are  only  worth  painstaking,  when  you  are  al 
lowed  to  have  'em  long  enough  for  discipline.  But,  whatever 
their  faults,  they  are  precisely  such  as  most  of  these  blundering 
captains  have  shared  along  with  them  ;  with  this  difference, 
perhaps,  and  in  favor  of  the  common  soldiers,  that  they  are  not 
troubled  with  that  vainglorious  pretension  which  curses  too 
many  of  their  captains,  and  which  has  but  too  frequently  been 
made  to  cover  not  only  incompetence,  but  cowardice." 

"Enough,  Porgy,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Singleton—  "  the 
subject  is  one  of  great  delicacy.  You  hit  right  and  left.  Re 
member,  we  are  not  now  under  the  command  of  our  own  briga 
dier." 

"  Would  we  had  been !  I  don't  blame  Sumter ;  since  he 
never  pretended  to  any  strategy ;  and  what  he  did  claim  to  do, 
and  that  was  fighting,  he  always  did  well.  Would  he,  think 
you,  have  let  those  brave  fellows,  Armstrong  and  Carrington, 
and  Mahain  and  Macaulay,  risk  themselves  alt^e,  to-day,  in 


FUETHEK    PASSAGES-AT-ARMS    AT     SIIUBKICK's.          361 

that  melee  at  the  bridge  ?  Never  !  He'd  have  been  first  across, 
I  tell  you.  He  committed  some  mistakes.  He  mistook  Coates's 
covering  party  for  an  attack  ;  then  suffered  Coates  to  protract 
his  shows  of  action,  without  forcing  it  upon  him.  To  suffer 
one's  self  to  be  amused  for  three  hours  with  such  mere  overtures 
was  a  great  mistake," 

"  Another  time,  Porgy,"  said  Sinclair. 

"Yes,  we  shall  have  time  enough,  and  provocation  enough 
for  such  discussion  hereafter  ;  but  I  could  eat  my  sword  with 
vexation  !  Then,  here  comes  the  field-piece,  of  which  such 
large  expectations -are  formed  ;  and  not  an  ounce  of  powder  !  " 

"Plenty  of  bullets,"  quoth  the  lieutenant.  "Help  yourselves, 
gentlemen  !  " 

"And  yet,"  continued  Porgy,  "here  are  hundreds  of  pounds 
of  powder  taken  in  Dorchester,  by  Colonel  Lee,  and  sent — 
where  ?  Up  to  General  Greene,  in  his  camp  of  rest,  as  if  he 
had  any  use  for  it  !  As  if  it  were  not  wanted  here  \  By  heavens  ! 
gentlemen,  say  what  you  will,  and  try  to  make  excuses  as  you. 
may,  but  the  blunders  of  this  expedition  are  so  '"-atrocious, 
that  I  can  but  think  them  wilful,  and  designed  for  sinister 
purposes.  We  can  only  suppose  them  otherwise,  by  assuming 
for  the  actor  such  a  degree  of  stupidity  as  would  henceforth 
assign  them  to  asinine  associations." 

Sinclair  defended  Sumter. 

"Oh!  hush,  Willie  Sinclair,  you  know  I  don't  mean  Sumter! 
D — n  the  fellow,  I  admire  him  !  I  prefer  our  own  brigadier, 
it  is  true ;  but,  next  to  him,  I  hold  to  Sumter.  But  he  has  suf 
fered  Lee  too  much  independent  exercise  ;  and  he  himself  feels 
it ;  and  if  he  is  sore  about  any  one  thing  especially  to-night,  it 
is  in  not  giving  precedence  to  Maham's  cavalry  and  his  own. 
And  Lee  would  have  done  better  had  he  not  been  spoiled  by 
Greene — much  better  in  this  foray,  had  he  not  had  his  head 
turned  by  his  unexpected  success  with  the  rear-guard,  and  his 

capture  of  these  d d  baggage-wagons.  It  was  the  fear  of 

losing  these  spoils  that  made  him  turn  back,  on  the  report  that 
Campbell  was  stirring  up  his  raw  recruits  for  mutiny ;  turn 
back,  when  he  was  within  six  hundred  yards  of  the  bridge  and  the 
enemy,  leaving  those  brave  fellows,  Armstrong  and  Carring- 
tou,  to  their  fate,  when  everything  depended  upon  following  up 

16 


362 

the  rush  oi  :he  first  two  sections,  by  others,  m  jevmpt 
sion,  his  legion  cavalry,  by  ours,  and  all  together  overwhelming 
all  opposition.  The  British  never  could  have  rallied.  They 
must  have  been  crushed  under  the  first  rush  of  the  horses. 
There  was  no  room  for  display,  for  a  single  evolution,  and  any 
efforts  would  only  have  ended  in  their  being  cut  to  pieces  and 
trampled  under  foot !  And  this  chance  was  lost  —  on  what  pre 
tence  ?  This  rear-guard  was  beginning  to  mutter  and  resume 
their  arms.  And  if  they  were,  was  not  Marion  ar-v  Sumter 
with  an  overwhelming  force,  corning  down  upon  them  at  a  trot  1 
And  might  they  not  have  been  left  to  our  tender  mercies,  Lee 
knowing  exactly  where  we  were,  ho\v  nigh,  and  never  doubting, 
I  fancy,  that  we  were  perfectly  competent  to  the  management 
of  these  raw  Irishmen  ?  No  !  no  !  It  was  the  baggage  that  he 
feared  to  lose.  He  is  famous  for  securing  the  baggage.  I  have 
no  doubt,  when  he  hurried  back,  that  he  took  a  peep  into  the 
wagons  to  see  if  the  fingers  of  plunder  had  not  been  busy  in  his 
fo,n  or  twenty  minutes  absence." 

"  Porgy,  Porgy,  you  are  unjust.  Lee  is  a  good  soldier  — 
\ights  well  and  bravely." 

"  But  that's  not  enough  for  a  good  soldier." 

"  IVt-eps  his  legion  in  admirable  discipline." 

"  I  grant  you ;  but  is  disposed  to  sacrifice  everything  for  his 
legion.  It  is  that  which  causes  our  mischiefs.  He  would  strip 
every  other  command  in  the  army,  of  its  rights,  resources,  se 
curities,  to  keep  his  legion  in  handsome  order." 

"  Allow  the  fact  as  a  fault,  still,  my  dear  fellow,  it  should  not 
be  permitted  to  decry  his  other  merits.  He  has  done  good  st\r- 
'ice,  has  fought  bravely,  has  been  always  active  and  vigilant; 
s  never  to  be  caught  napping,  and  is  rarely  to  be  found  want- 
.ng.  .1  grant  you  that  he  has  committed  some  serious  ftiiilta, 
especially  in  this  campaign ;  but  these,  I  suspect,  really  arise, 
irom  a  jealousy  of  his  reputation.  He  is  greedy  after  glory, 
and  loves  not  to  see  any  one  preferred  to  himself." 

••  In  other  words,  in  his  greed  of  glory,  he  would  Sooner  &eo 
his  superior  officer  defeated  or  embarrassed,  th&n  successful  in 
any  achievement  beyond  his  own." 

"  Shocking,  Porgy,  shocking.  Do  not  speak  *"r-  :Ha  manner 
Do  not  think  thus,"  said  Singleton. 


FURTHER   PASSAGES-AT-ARMS    AT   SHUBRICK'S. 

'  It  is  the  thought  of  the  whole  army,  let  me  tell  you.  He 
has  got  Greene  by  the  ear.  He  is  an  earwig.  He  whispers 
him  to  the  disparagement  of  Sumter,  Marion,  and  in  fact  every 
body ;  and  Greene,  unfortunately  listens  to  him.  This  is  what 
even  the  common  soldiers  see  and  say.  His  legion  is  petted 
and  patted  on  all  occasions,  and  to  the  neglect  and  disparage 
ment  of  other  commands.  All  others  must  be  sacrificed,  while 
the  legion  is  to  be  economized  and  kept  in  bandbox  condition 
for  state  occasions — great  shows  and  solemnities.  And  here, 
taking  large  bodies  of  stores  at  Dorchester,  powder  included,  he 
packs  it  all  off  direct  to  Gieene,  as  if  to  say 'see  what  I  have 
done, 'and  to  keep  us  from  all  share  in  the  things  which  our 
ragged,  half-starved  people  need.  Who  has  a  better  right  to 
these  stores  than  we  1  To  whom  should  he  have  despatched 
them  but  Sumter,  under  whose  immediate  command  he  was 
serving  ?  and  why  send  off  to  an  army  in  camp  that  has  no  pres 
ent  need  of  these  things,  the  very  munitions  of  war  which  are 
absolutely  necessary  to  our  present  purposes  ?" 

"  No  more  of  it,  my  dear  Porgy ;  we  have  causes  enough  of 
vexation  without  diving  after  them." 

"  But  if  by  diving  after  them  we  can  bring  up  the  truth — by 
the  locks  —  rescue  it  from  drowning  —  we  may  have  some  rea 
sonable  prospect  hereafter  of  curing  these  causes  of  vexation." 

"Ah!  my  fat  friend,"  quoth  Singleton — "the  naked,  bare 
faced  truth  would  be  indecently  exposed  just  now,  and  would 
only  afford  new  causes  of  vexation.  Think  no  more  of  this 
matter  —  at  ail  events,  speak  no  more  of  it.  Your  language, 
such  as  you  now  use,  can  only  do  mischief,  if  put  in  circulation." 

"  In  circulation  !  Bless  you,  it's  the  talk  of  all  the  camp , 
and  if  Lee  does  not  himself  hear  of  it,  it's  only  because  of  a 
continued  deafness,  such  as  he  caught  when  he  encountered  one 
of  the  Spanns,  at  the  time  the  legion  served  with  us  against 
Georgetown." 

"  What  happened  then  ?" 

"  Why  Lee,  whose  insolent  haughtiness  of  manner  was  always 
employed  to  humble  the  common  soldiers,  sitting  on  a  log  with 
his  coat  off,  and  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  seeing  •ur  Lieutenant 
Spann,  dipping  up  a  bucket  of  water  from  a  branch,  cried  to 
turn,  '  dark  ye,  my  man.  brirg  me  a  bucket  of  that  water' 


364  EU'I 


was  iu  homespun,  and  Leo  did  not  i.^ice  the  epaulette 
•n  his  shoulder.  The  answer  of  Spaun  was  as  quick  as  a  pistol 
ullet.  '  You  be  d  -  d  !  Wait  on  yourself,  as  your  betters 
have  to  do  !'  Lee  became  deaf  on  the  instant,  and  fortunately, 
for  he  might  have  heard  a  thousand  such  speeches,  but  for  this 
profitable  infirmity.  He  will  probably  be  compelled  to  hear  of 
them  after  this  affair,  unless  his  deafness  is  absolutely  incor- 
i*i*ible." 

Now,  hark  ye,  Porgy,"  said  Singleton,  "  I  see  what  your 
^ior  is  ;  but  for  the  sake  of  the  service,  and  of  our  own  gen 
eral,  do  not  you  make  any  such  speeches  in  Lee's  hearing  or  in 
that  of  anybody  else." 

"And  do  you  think,  Colonel  Bob  Singleton,  that  I  care  a 
straw  whether  he  hears  me  or  not?" 

"  No  !  I  know  you  too  well  to  suppose  that  you  do  care  ! 
I  take  for  granted  that  nothing  would  give  you  more  satisfaction, 
in  your  present  temper,  than  to  make  him  hear." 

"  You  are  right,  by  Jupiter  !  I  feel  it  in  my  soul,  to  ring  it  in 
his  ears  with  a  trumpet  summons.' 

*  Precisely  !  And  that  is  the  very  thing  that  you  must  not  do. 
Yc«  are  not  to  suffer  your  private  moods  to  stir  up  strife  in  the 
army,  upon  a  subject  that  is  already  sufficiently  troublesome, 
and  to  the  defeat  of  the  cause  that  we  have  in  hand.  This,  by 
way  of  warning,  my  dear  Porgy,  for  I  have  reason  to  know 
that  the  '  Fox'  himself  has  heard  of  some  of  your  angry 
speeches,  and  means  to  speak  to  you  about  the  matter." 

"  Let  him  speak  !  Nay,  my  dear  boy,  don't  suppose  that  I 
shall  so  consult  my  own  humors  as  to  do  any  public  mischief. 
It  is  because  I  am  thus  restrained  that  I  feel  like  boiling  over. 
But,  between  us,  the  '  Fox'  knows,  as  well  as  you  and  I,  that 
what  I  say  is  true  —  tr.ue,  every  syllable!" 

"  Be  it  so  !  Although,  I  repeat,  your  prejudices  against  Lee 
prevents  you  from  doing  justice  to  his  real  merits.  But  let  us 
change  the  subject  somewhat.  You  have  seen  this  afternoon's 
work.  Have  you  any  idea  of  Coates's  for.ce  iu  the  house  and 
grounds  ?" 

«  Four  or  fi*e  hundred." 

"  Six  hundred  regular  infantry,  at  least,  Nearly  twice  tb« 
number  with  which  v  e  made  the  attack." 


FUETHEE   PASSAGES-AT-AEMS   AT   SHUBIUCK^S.          365 

"How  do  you  arrive  at  the  fact  ?" 

"  We  found,  in  the  captured  baggage,  the  commissary's  return 
of  the  issues  of  the  army  for  the  day  —  nine  hundred  rations, 
and  forage  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  horses." 

"  And  that  we  should  lose  all  this  prey,  when  it  only  needed 
that  we  should  lay  bold  hands  upon  it ! "  said  Porgy. 

"Nay,  no  more  growling,  my  dear  Porgy,"  said  Sinclair. 
'*  Instead  of  dwelling  upon  what  we  have  failed  to  do,  let  us  try 
and  console  ourselves  by  looking  to  what  we  have  done.  We 
have  killed  and  wounded  two  hundred  of  the  enemy  at  least ; 
we  have  safe  in  hand,  bagged,  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
prisoners,  *  not  including  nine  commissioned  officers.  We  have 
captured  a  large  convoy  'of  baggage,  with  nearly  a  thousand 
guineas  in  the  army-chest — " 

"Ah!  these  d d  baggage- wagon s  !  It  is  to  them  we  owe 

it,  that  we  have'nt  done  everythin  that  we  should  have  done. 
At  first  I  thought  Coates  a  blockhead,  to  put  his  baggage- 
wagons  in  the  rear,  under  a  feeble  guard,  when  he  was  in  full 
retreat  from  a  pursuing  enemy.  I  now  suspect  him  of  a  pro 
found  policy,  I  suspect  he  reads  his  bible  on  Sunday.  He  has 
learned  his  military  lesson  from  Scripture.  He  put  the  tempta 
tion  behind  him,  and  before  us.  He  knew  how  greedy  we  were. 
He  felt  sure  that  we  could  not  withstand  the  bait,  any  more 
than  a  hungry  mawmouth  perch  in  midsummer,  He  was  right, 
and  baiting  us,  he  got  off  from  the  hook  himself." 

"Well,  well!"  continued  Sinclair.  "To  proceed:  —  We  haw 
the  bait  nevertheless,  the  baggage  and  plunder.  Besides,  we 
rescued  from  the  flames  at  Biggin,  a  large  body  of  stores,  cap 
tured  and  destroyed  four  schooners  at  the  landing,  and  beat 
back  the  British  bayonet  at  Shubrick's  house.  The  charge  was 
beautifully  repelled.'' 

"You  say  that  the  British  lost  two  hundred  men  at  the  house 
to-day  —  killed  and  wounded  —  how  do  you  know  the  fact?" 
demanded  Porgy. 

"We  do  not  know  it.  But  we  have  some  facts  which  render 
this  a  reasonable  estimate.  The  crack  riflemen  of  the  brigade 
have  not  been  peppering  away  at  their  enemies,  sometimes  on  the 
open  plain  in  column,  sometimes  at  doors  and  windows,  for  three 
mortal  hours,  without  inflicting,  as  well  as  breaking  pains! 


v»  EUTAW. 

Pardon  the  pun,  my  dear  Porgy ;  its  demerits  are  due  to  Hit 
annoy&nces  of  our  lee  shore  experience,  and  the  rough  wind, 
which  make  even  a  dragoon's  humor  costive.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Coates  does  not  get  off  to-day  with  less  than  two  hundred 
hors  de  combat.  At  the  bridge  he  lost  one  commissioned  office.! 
and  five  privates  killed,  and  four  wounded." 

"  And  what  to-morrow  ?" 

"Sufficient  for  the  day! — But  we  must  go  the  rounds.  If 
Coates  be  at  all  enterprising,  he  may  beat  up  some  of  our 
drowsy  sections  with  a  warm  bayonet  to-night." 

"  Not  he !  But  he  has  that  dashing  young  Irishman,  Fitz 
gerald,  with  him,  who  has  spirit  enough  for  the  attempt.  By 
the  way,  St.  Julien,  you  had  a  pass  or  two  with  him  to-day,  at 
close  quarters — that  is  to  say,  across  the  fence." 

"  But  a  pass  !"  said  the  taciturn  St.  Julien.     "  It  is  the  sec 
end  time  that  we  have  crossed  blades  unprofitably." 

"  You  Lave  both  reason  to  beware  of  the  third  passage,"  said 
Porgy,  "  I  believe  in  the  fate  in  threes  !  And  so  let  «ts  sip  a 
little  of  this  punch,  which  unites  the  sweet,  the  sour,  and  tho 
Ltrong  !  It  would  be  almost  justification  for  a  man  to  get  drunk 
to-night,  particulaily  OT>.  BW&S  Kquor,  after  so  many  mortify  iag 
disappointments  to-dav." 


367 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

STRANDED   ON    THE   KING'S   HIGHWAY. 

THE  morning  brought  with  it  little  to  alleviate  the  mortifica 
tion  of  such  of  our  partisans  as  were  especially  ambitious  of 
performance.  With  the  first  inquiry  it  was  found  that  Lee, 
with  his  legion,  horse  and  foot,  had  taken  the  route  to  join  the 
main  army  under  Greene,  without  the  knowledge  or  consent  of 
Sumter.  But  the  force  remaining  with  the  latter  general  would 
still  have  been  quite  sufficient  to  conquer  Coates  in  his  fortress, 
could  he  —  to  use  an  Hibernicisni  —  be  dislodged  from  it.  The 
field-piece  would  have  sufficed  for  this  purpose,  but,  with  abun 
dance  of  bullets,  there  was,  as  we  have  heard,  no  powder !  It 
was  a  mockery  to  sight  and  thought!  Still,  our  partisans  could 
have  starved  Coates  out,  were  sufficient  time  allowed  them ; 
and,  once  forced  out,  every  step  that  he  took  would  be  under  the 
surveillance  and  continued  assault  of  our  mounted  men ;  and, 
without  cavalry,  the  British  colonel  must  finally  have  succumbed 
to  them. 

But  time  was  not  allowed  for  the  indulgence  of  these  inter 
esting  exercises.  The  scouts  brought  in  advices  that  Lord 
Hawdon  had  already  set  out  from  Oraugeburg,  with  five  hun 
dred  picked  infantry,  the  flower  of  his  command,  and  was 
marching  downward,  with  all  despatch,  for  the  relief  of  Coates. 
This  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  abandoning  the  leaguer,  which, 
to  be  successful,  would  require  at  least  three  days.  Rawdoii 
might  be  supposed  to  be  already  at  Monck's  Corner,  which  was 
"but  seventeen  miles  from  Shubrick's.  Besides,  Shubrick's  was 
but  twenty  miles  from  Charleston,  on  a  point  accessible  by 
tide-water;  and  a  hostile  force  might  be  anticipated  at  any 


368  EUTAW. 

moment  from  the  city  garrison.  Under  all  circumstances, 
Sumter  was  unwillingly  compelled  to  forego  his  prey.  lie 
secured  his  prisoners,  his  captured  stores  and  baggage,  ami 
sullenly  deliberate,  took  his  march  Eastward  and  across  the 
ISaii tee,  where  he  was  soon  in  safety. 

We  could  add  a  great  deal  to  the  arguments  to  which  we 
have  already  listened,  from  the  mouths  of  others,  in  the  last 
chapter,  to  show  why  the  expedition  had  not  realized  all  the 
results  anticipated  from  it  —  to  show  why  it  had  failed  at  cer 
tain  points,  and  in  what  way  it  must  have  succeeded  ;  —  but  our 
purpose  contemplates  no  such  nice  examination  of  the  history. 
We  have  only  to  add  that,  could  Coates  have  been  captured, 
the  battle  of  Eutaw  would  probably  never  have  taken  place ; 
the  whole  British  force  must  have  been  drawn  down  from 
Orangeburg ;  and  Charleston  itself,  as  a  British  garrison,  must 
have  been  endangered.  An  order  from  New  York  required 
the  transfer,  to  that  place,  of  two  of  the  regiments  lately  re- 
ceieved  from  Ireland ;  and  the  rest  of  the  British  forces,  within 
the  state,  would  have  been  absolutely  required  for  the  mainte 
nance  of  the  garrison  at  the  metropolis.  Certainly,  as  we  pre 
figure  to  ourselves  these  results,  we  can  appreciate  the  savage 
criticisms  of  Captain  Porgy,  upon  those  blunders  and  wilful- 
nesses —  if  such  they  were — which  he  conceived  to  be  at  the 
bottom  of  their  defeat. 

But,  while  Sumter  retires  across  the  Santee,  and  Marion  into 
the  haunt  of  his  brigade  ;  while  a  large  number  of  their  several 
commands  take  advantage  of  the  dog-day  respite,  to  see  their 
farms  and  families ;  what  of  our  other  parties,  whom  the 
Fates  still  keep  busy  in  spite  of  the  season  V 

'What  does  Willie  Sinclair  contemplate  doing  in  respect  to 
Travis  and  his  sou,  Bertha  and  her  mother?  As  yet,  he  knows 
nothing,  can  hear  nothing,  of  either  party.  Jim  Ballon  has 
made  no  recent  report  ;  and  from  this  silence,  Sinclair  readily 
conceives  that  Travis  and  his  son  still  chide  the  search  of  the 
scout.  In  respect  to  Bertha  and  her  mother,  though  he  holds 
the  probabilities  to  be  strong,  that  they  have  crossed  the  San- 
tee  in  safety,  and  reached  the  dwelling  cf  Mrs.  Baynard,  the 
sister  of  Travis,  yet,  even  this  point  is  a  subject  of  anxiety.  A 
long  consultation  with  St.  Julien  determines  his  present  route 


STRANDED    ON   THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY.  869 

though  it  does  not  lessen  his  doubts  and  difficulties.  He  con 
cludes  to  accompany  the  march  of  Sumter  up  the  Santee,  and 
ascertain,  certainly,  the  facts  in  reference  to  Bertha  and  her 
mother.  '  His  plan  is,  having  quieted  himself  in  respect  to  tkcmf 
to  recross  the  Santee  from  above,  and  renew  his  search  in  ard 
about  the  Edisto,  the  Four-Holes,  and  the  heads  of  Cooper 
river  —  naturally  supposing  that  the  parties  must  be  hidden 
somewhere  within  those  precincts,  which  constitute  the  foraying 
ranges  of  Billiard  Inglehardt.  To  return,  by  way  of  Biggin 
and  Monck's  Corner,  would  be  not  only  t^  leave  himself  unsat 
isfied  as  to  Bertha's  safety,  but  would  be  LO  endanger  his  own ; 
since  Lord  Rawdon,  with  his  five  hundred  men,  is  supposed  to 
be  in  and  about  this  very  region. 

And,  so  resolving,  he  took  up  the  line  of  march  with  Sumter, 
with  whom  he  continued  until  the  precincts  of  Fort  Watson 
were  attained;  when  Sinclair  separated,  with  his  company  un 
der  St.  Julien,  from  the  main  body,  which,  under  instructions 
from  Greene,  proceeded  to  ascend,  along  the  Congaree,  and 
take  post  near  Fridig's  ferry.  Briefly,  to  conclude  the  doubts 
of  our  hero,  and  increase  his  anxieties  and  fears,  he  found,  on 
reaching  Mrs.  Baynard's  plantation,  that  Mrs.  Travis  and  her 
daughter  had  not  yet  arrived.  The  good  lady  reported  the 
safe  arrival  of  all  her  brother's  negroes,  under  the  escort  of 
'Bram,  and  the  departure  of  that  trustworthy  emissary.  But 
she  could  report  nothing  more. 

And  here,  poor  Willie  Sinclair  was  all  at  sea  again ;  clouds 
gathering,  and  no  star,  east  or  west,  to  indicate  his  future 
course.  For  awhile,  he  w?,s  confounded  —  too  much  so  to 
think  or  to  determine  justly;  and  St.  Julien  quietly  took  the 
direction  of  affairs  into  his  own  hands,  and  Sinclair  submitting, 
the  troop  proceeded  to  recross  the  Santee,  by  the  nearest  ferry, 
and  resume  the  search,  once  more,  in  those  precincts,  which  it 
had  already  so  unprofitably  traversed. 

Leaving  Sinclair  to  his  toilsome  labors,  destined  for  awhile  to 
continued  disappointment,  let  us  take  the  route  after  his  father 
and  sister,  and  see  what  has  happened  to  them,  in  their  home 
ward  pi  ogress.  They  had  now  to  retrace  their  steps,  over  the 
ground  which  they  nad  compassed  in  the 'morning ;  and  the 
journey  was  a  tedious  ou*>  The  recent  excitements  subsiding, 

16* 


610  EUTVW. 

left  the  whole  party  in  a  state  of  considerable  prostration-  -d«»- 

pression,  in  fact;  for  poor  Carrie  Sinclair  could  now  reflect 
upon  the  perils  of  her  brother  and  her  lover.  She  conju^d  up 
a  thousand  images  of  terror  —  fancied  both  perishing  on  the 
field ;  for  she  knew  the  audacity  of  her  brother's  temperament, 
and  the  cool,  determined  bravery  of  her  lover.  We  may  ima 
gine  her  reflections,  and  conceive  the  gloominess  of  their  pres 
ent  aspects. 

As  for  her  fu-her,  he  could  never  be  done  thinking,  and  talk 
ing,  of  his  desperate  shot  at  his  son. 

"  What  an  old  fool !  what  an  old  fool !"  he  kept  muttering  ; 
and  only  varied  the  burden  to  utter  thanks  to  GoJ  who  had 
spared  him  the  murder  of  his  first-born. 

"For  it  would  have  been  murder,  Carrie,"  said  he  solemnly. 
''  I  was  not  in  the  army.  I  was  not  called  upon  to  fight.  It  was 
in  very  wantonness  and  madness,  folly  and  stupidity,  that  T 
lifted  weapon  this  day ;  and  why  the  d — 1,  girl,  did  you  suffer 
me  to  do  it  1  It  was  all  your  fault.  Had  my  wretched  folly 
slain  your  brother,  the  sin  would  have  been  upon  your  head !" 

A  booby  of  a  girl,  vain  and  worthless,  would  have  reminded 
hei  father,  that  she  had  striven  to  make  him  put  up  his  Aveap- 
ons  —  nay,  had  seen  them  put  up  —  and  would  have  been  at 
pains  to  convince  the  old  man  that  nobody  was  to  blame  but 
himself.  But  our  Carrie  was  a  noble,  sensible  woman,  who 
preferred  that  the  old  man  should  make  out  his  case  as  he 
would,  and  conjure  up  what  consoling  reflections  he  might,  by 
which  o  lessen  the  grievous  burden  upon  his  soul.  Dear  girl, 
we  will  make  a  wife  of  her,  if  we  -.an  !  She  stifled  her  own 
griefs,  and  submitted  to  the  reproaches  of  his. 

Before  night  his  gout  was  very  troublesome,  and  he  grew 
more  and  more  peevish  and  querulous  every  moment.  He  was 
impatient  with  old  Sam,  the  driver,  and  wished  a  thousand 
times  he  had  brought  Beiiny  Bowlegs,  who  had  smelt  fire,  and 
did  not  fear  it.  He  next  charged  upon  Sain,  as  the  real  cause 
of  his  shooting  at  his  son. 

"  Had  the  scoundrel  not  stopped  the  horses,  nothing  of  the 
kind  could  have  happened!" 

And  so  the  parly  travelled.  The  gout  grew  worse.  The 
iiight.  .-amp  down  It  was  ten  o'clock  before  they  got  back  fr 


STRANDED    OX   THE   KING'S   HIGHWAY.  871 

Moack's  Corner,  where  they  found  lodgings  at  the  little  olcl 
i.  M  :.el  that  was  kept  at  the  place.  Here,  after  a  hot  supper  (of 
old  bacon,  fried  eggs,  and  some  disconsolate  fish,  of  nondescript 
class,  which  had  been  taken  from  the  river,  or  some  one  of  its 
arms),  which  the  gouty  baron  swore  it  was  indispensable  to  his 
peace  that  he  should  eat  that  night,  the  party  retired  to  rest. 

Two  hours  after,  there  was  a  great  stir  —  a  tramp  —  a  com 
motion.  Lord  Rawdon  had  arrived  with  his  regiment  of  five 
hundred  men.  He  was  told  of  Colonel  Sinclair's  recent  arrival, 
and  of  the  flight  of  Coates.  But  of  the  result  of  the  flight,  the 
landlord  could  tell  him  nothing.  His  lordship  was  too  anxious 

—  the  affair  of  too  much  serious  importance  for  postponement 

—  and,  with   these  -apologies,  Rawdon  insisted  on  seeing  our 
baron ;  and,  after  first  apprizing  him  of  his  purpose,  he  made 
his  way  to  his  chamber.     A  long  conference  ensued  between 
them.     Sinclair  narrated,  as  well  as  he  could,  all  the  events  of 
which  he  knew  anything,  occurring  that  day.     The  narrative 
threw  my  Lord  Rawdon  into  great  uneasiness.     He  dreaded 
fhe  catastrophe,  which  would,  indeed,  endanger  his  own  safety. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  march  now ;  my  men  are  exhausted  by 
our  forced  inarch  to-day !"  he  said.  It  was  now  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  he  strode  the  chamber  in  great  agitation. 
Meanwhile,  Sinclair  was  groaning  upon  his  mattress.  He  had 
been  aroused  frt^n  slpop  just  as  he  had  fallen  comfortably  into 
it ;  an  offence  —  according  to  Captain  Porgy  —  which  merits 
death  in  the  offender.  Aroused  by  his  groans,  to  a  sense  of 
the  claims  of  the  old  invalid,  Lord  Rawdon  undertook  to  con 
dole  'tfith  him  ;  but,  when  he  talked  of  gout,  old  Sinclair  cried 
out,  — 

1  My  lord,  I  have  this  day  tried  to  slay  my  own  son  !  I  shot 
at  him  —  shot  him,  I  may  say — the  bullet  grazing  his  forehead  ! 
Can  you  conceive  of  a  crime  more  horrible  ?" 

"  But  you  knew  not  that  it  was  your  son  1" 

"Oh,  certainly,  I  knew  not!  I  was  in  pain  —  in  agony  — 
and  under  a  most  d — nable  excitement !  The  exulting  rebel* 
were  in  procession  before  my  eyes !  I  saw  the  king's  banner 
trampled  under  foot  —  your  d—  — d  Irish,  my  lord,  threw  dowi* 
tbeir  arms  without  a  struggle  —and  that  miserable  old  scoun 
drel,  Sam,  my  driver  —  it  VMS  nil  his  doings  —  he  must 


372  EQTAW. 

stop  short  in  the  road,  just  when  the  affair  was  going  on  at  the 
bridge  !  He  was  the  cause  of  it  all,  and  made  mo  shoot  my 
son !  I  was  so  much  goaded  by  all  these  things,  that  I  playea 
the  madman,  which  is  next  thing  to  playing  the  fool !" 

"  Scarcely,  my  dear  colonel.  The  one  role  is  infinitely  more 
dignified  than  the  other.  But  what  are  now  your  purposes  ? 
Whither  do  you  go  ?" 

"  Home  !   home  !  home  !" 

"  But  you  need  not !  Your  course  to  Charleston  is  now  clear. 
You  can  go  thither  without  impediment.  I  will  guaranty  your 
safe  progress.  Whether  by  the  routes,  east  or  west,  of  Cooper 
river.  With  the  dawn,  I  shall  march  on  Quinby,  relieve 
Coates,  and  disperse  the  rebels.  A  single  day,  by  the  western 
route,  will  easily  take  you  to  Charleston  from  this  place ;  and, 
I  suppose  that  there  is  hardly  a  scouting  party  of  the  rebels 
now  west  of  Cooper  river.  But,  if  you  will  take  the  road  with 
me,  I  will  see  you  safe.  My  course  is  for  the  city,  though  I  am 
compelled  to  turn  aside  for  awhile  to  beat  off  these  hornets." 

'•  Thank  you,  my  lord  ;  but  I  left  the  matter  to  WiHie.  He 
has  said  —  home  —  and  home  I  go!  I  go  to  die,  perhaps;  I 
feel  like  it.  I  am  very  ill.  Very  ill.  Such  a  day  as  I  have 
had.  And  this  shooting  of  my  son !" 

"But  he  is  not  shot  —  not  hurt  —  as  I  understand  you!'* 

"  To  be  sure  not !  God  was  merciful !  I  missed  him  ;  had  I 
slain  him,  my  lord,  be  sure,  I  had  not  been  here  to  answer  you 
to-night.  I  had  kept  one  pistol  for  myself." 

"  My  dear  colonel,  dismiss  these  thoughts.  I  hope  to  drink 
many  a  good  glass  of  that  old  Madeira  with  you  yet.  But  suf 
fer  me  to  send  my  surgeon  to  you.  He  is  an  able  man,  and 
may,  no  doubt,  afford  you  some  relief." 

"  No,  my  lord,  no  !  I  thank  you.     My  disease,  you  are  awa» 
is  chronic.     All  the  specifics  are  notorious.     I  hp~e  'em  all- 
and  he  can  only  prescribe  medicines  which  I  am  used  to.     Look 
yonder,  th<?ve  is  a  medicine  chest  —  my  travelling  companion. 
If  you  could  send  me  sleep,  my  lord,  it  were  far  better  thar  the, 
surgeon  !" 

Rawdon  had  got  from  the  veteran  all  that  he  could  report. 
His  last  hint  was  not  to  be  mistaken;  but  old  Sinclair  \v-v\ld 
have  died,  befpre  saying,  in  so  many  words  —  "pray  get  /oc 


STRANDED    OX   THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY.  &T& 

gone,  my  lord,  and  let  ire  sleep;"  as  the  good  comn  on  sanso 
of  the  present  generation  would  be  very  apt  to  say  it  without 
scruple.  But  the  period  of  the  Georges  was  of  the  old  trick  in 
social  policy  —  a  thing  on  stilts  and  out  of  nature,.  We  have 
reformed  all  this. 

His  lordship,  of  course,  expressed  his  regrets  at  having  disturb 
ed  the  invalid,  but  pleaded  anew  the  apologetic  circumstances  — 
his  great  anxiety  for  the  army  —  the  royal  cause,  &c. ;  and  tta 
baron  roused  himself  up  to  answer  courteously  to  ail  this,  while 
Rawdon  was  bowing  himself  out  of  the  room 

With  the  sunrise  Carrie  Sinclair  was  at  her  father's  door 
But  Rawdon  had  set  off  before  the  dawn,  on  the  route  to 
Quinby.  It  is  only  necessary  *o  add,  that  before  he  reached 
this  spot,  he  was  met  by  the  messengers  of  Coates,  who  had 
already  been  relieved  by  the  departure  of  Sumter.  His  lord 
ship  wheeled  about,  and  made  for  the  city  by  the  western  route, 
There  he  did  not  remain  long  —  only  enough  to  sanction,  if  not 
to  command,  the  execution  of  Hayne,  as  a  traitor  —  an  unwar 
rantable  stretch  of  power  —  and  to  depart  for  England.  OL 
the  route  he  was  captured  by  the  French,  and  was  brought 
back,  a  puisoner-of-war,  to  Yorktown,  the  surrender  of  which 
place  to  Washington,  he  was  compelled  to  witness !  But  for 
this  last  grateful  event,  and  the  near  prospect  of  peace  which  it 
afforded,  Rawdon  would  undoubtedly  have  expiated  on  the 
gallows,  the  wanton  and  profligate  cruelty  of  Hayne's  execu 
tion  ! 

After  breakfast,  feeling  something  easier,  Colonel  Sinclair 
*nd  family  resumed  their  journey.  And  his  gout  resumed  its 
ittacks,  and  the  cloud  ^esumed  its  progress  before  them,  and 
hung  all  the  way  along  their  route.  How  gloomy  was  the 
prospect  as  they  travelled,  and  how  tedious  all  the  way,  to  all 
the  parties;  what  doubts  oppressed  their  souls;  what  fearf. 
chilled  their  hearts,  we  shall  not  attempt  to  describe,  nor  enter 
into  unnecessary  details  of  any  kind.  Enough,  briefly,  to  HI-JL 
tion  that  our  baron's  gout  grew  worse  and  worse  —  his  fee: 
were  very  much  swollen  —  his  bad  temper  fearfully  increased 
and  it  required  all  the  patience  of  Carrie,  and  the  exercise  of 
all  her  resources  for  anmsemer.t,  to  the  suppression  of  her  ow: 
g»:efs  and  anxieties,  to  keep  T  cr  f«4h«M-  in  any  endurable  lrum<>i 


B74  EUTAW. 

Wo  rmiQt  suppose  all  the  dcsagremens  of  a  day  i  f  travel  in  verj 
hot  weather,  under  these  circumstances. 

But  tVoj7-  were  not  to  escape  with  these  annoyances  only 
The  progref-j  had  been  made  without  interruption,  till  the  after 
noon.  The  party  had  finally  got  a  few  miles  above  Eutaw 
Springs,  and  the  old  man  was  drowsing  upon  the  shoulder  of 
Carrie,  in  one  of  the  pauses  of  his  gout,  when,  all  of  a  sudden, 
an  ejaculation  from  Sam,  the  driver,  and  a  cry  from  Lottie, 
roused  Carrie  from  her  sorrowful  reveries,  and  the  old  man 
from  his  snatch  of  sleep.  In  the  same  moment,  a  burst  of 
hoarse,  harsh  voices  was  heard,  and  half  a  dozen  or  more,  wild, 
half-savage  looking  persons,  darting  out  of  the  woods,  ar^sted 
the  horses  by  their  heads  and  surrounded  the  carriage.  Two 
of  them  presented  themselves  at  the  carriage  windows.  tk«  most 
decently  apparelled  of  the  party.  Most  of  them  were  ragged 
and  squalid  of  appearance ;  some  without  jackets,  one  or  two 
without  covering  for  Che  head,  but  all  armed  with  guns,  two  of 
them  with  bright  new  English  muskets,  and,  from  their  voices, 
they  were  readily  distinguished  to  be  Irishman. 

•  Deserters !  by  Heavens !"  murmured  old  Sinclair  to  his 
Daughter.  It  is  wonderful  that  his  prudence  was  sufficiently 
active  to  keep  him  from  roaring  it  aloud.  But  gout  is  a  won 
derful  subduer  of  the  spirit.  Our  veteran  was  now  rather 
querulous  than  quarrelsome.  His  daughter  squeezed  his  hs  /d 
to  counsel  forbearance  and  caution.  They  were  completely  at 
the  mercy  of  the  outlaws. 

"  Be  aisy  now,"  said  one  of  the  party  at  the  window  of  \) 
carriage,  "  and  no  harm  will  come  to  yer !" 

"  But  why  do  you  stop  my  carriage  ?" 

"  It's  for  your  own  good,  and  the  king's  sarvice,"  said  another 
of  the  party,  looking  in  at  the  window ;  "  a  purty  pair  of  gala 
ye've  got,  old  gentleman,  that  we'd  like  to  git  better  known  tj 
ef  we  had  the  time ;  but  the  sun's  pushing  for  quarters,  and  we 
must  see  after  doing  the  same  thing.  Hourrah !  there,  boys, 
git  on !" 

"  Maussa  !"  cried  old  Sam,  "  dey's  a-taking  out  de  hosses  !*' 

"  Taking  out  the  horses  !  What  the  devil,  my  good  fellows 
do  you  mean  by  taking  out  my  horses  ?" 


STRANDED   ON   THE   KING'S   HIGHWAY.  375 

•'  It's  in  the  king's  name  !  We're  a  wanting  'em  for  public 
sarvice !" 

"  My  horses  for  the  public  service  I  By  whose  orders  ?  ShoTf 
me  your  orders." 

"  They  lies  here  !"  cried  one  of  the  outlaws,  showing  his  rifle. 
The  baron  roared  aloud,  and,  seizing  his  sword,  drew  it,  and  thrust 
it  through  the  windows  at  the  fellow.  He  only  laughed,  though 
he  receded.  Sinclair  writhed,  and  groaned,  and  swore,  and 
thrust  out  his  weapon  again  and  again,  in  mere  threatening,  as 
well  as  he  could,  on  both  sides  of  the  carriage,  and  through  the 
windows,  his  daughter  vainly  striving  to  disarm  him.  The  ban 
ditti  too  well  perceived  his  imbecility  to  be  made  angry  with 
Lis  efforts.  They  seemed  to  be  rather  in  a  jovial  than  a  trucu 
lent  humor. 

"  Why  don't  you  drive  on,  and  over  these  rascals,  you  miser 
able  skunk  !"  shouted  the  veteran,  to  Sam.  "Oh!  that  I  had 
brought  Benny  Bowlegs!" 

"  He  hab  de  boss  head  down,  maussa !" 

"Drive  OQ!    I  say!" 

Sam  made  the  motion,  but  the  moment  he  did  so,  one  of  the 
ruffians  admonished  him  of  the  impropriety  of  all  such  demon 
strations  by  a  prompt  and  rather  rude  application  of  the  butt  of 
his  musket  to  the  negro's  head. 

"  What  do  you  poke  about,  boys,  stopping  to  unharness  ?" 
said  another.  "Cut  loose,  I  say  —  cut  'em  out!  We've  no 

time  to  lose.  We'll  have  that  d d  Lieutenant  Nelson  after 

us,  and  then  we'll  catch  it !" 

And  the  knife  was  applied,  the  horses  cut  out  of  the  traces, 
and,  in  a  moment,  each  was  mounted  by  one  or  more  of  the 
deserters  —  such  they  were  !  In  his  rage  and  pain,  the  veteran 
colonel  sank  back  fainting  in  the  carriage,  while,  with  a  wild 
whoop  and  halloo,  the  outlaws  dashed  off  into  the  woods  on  the 
right,  and  were  lost  to  sight  and  hearing  in  a  few  minutes. 

Old  Sam  was,  for  awhile,  the  only  person  fully  conscious  of 
the  extent  of  their  misfortune.  The  old  fellow  actually  blub- 
oereci  like  a  baby. 

"  My  bosses  gone ;  tek  out ;  tief  'way ;  my  own  bosses  ; 
Nero  and  Nimrod  ;  and  Clarence  and  Nabob ;  and  wha'  is  for 
be  done  now?  De  Lawd  hab  massy  'pon  we !  Wha'  for  do?' 


.J7«5  EUTA\\. 

Carrie  and  Lottie  were  both  too  anxious  about  the  old  man, 
too  busy  in  (be  application  of  restoratives,  to  think  of  their  loss, 
01  even  to  comprehend  it  at  present.  After  awhile  the  father 
opened  his  eyes. 

"My  children !  My  poor  children!  You  are  safe  —safe! 
Thank  God,  you  are  safe!  But,"  looking  around  him,  "where 
are  those  wretches  ?" 

"  Gone,  sir,  I  believe  !" 

"  He  gone !"  cried  Sam,  "  but  oh,  Lawd !  maussa,  wha*  we 
for  do  ?  Dem  wild  men  carry  off  all  de  bosses !" 

"  Carried  off  the  horses !  Carried  off  the  horses,  do  you 
say  ?"  the  colonel  yelled  out.  "  And  why  did  you  suffer  it,  you 
spiritless  old  scoundrel  ?  Why  did  you  not  whip  up,  and  run 
over  the  rascals  ?  Why  did  you  sneak  along  so  slow,  that  a 
terrapin  could  have  walked  over  you  ?  Good  Heavens  !  what 
is  to  be  done  ?  We  must  be  several  miles  from  any  habitation. 
None,  that  I  know  of,  nearer  than  Eutaw ;  and  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  walk.  What  a  situation,  and  we  have  hardly  three 
hours  to  sunset !" 

"  Der's  some  houses  in  de  woods,  maussa,  'bout  seben,  or  fibe, 
or  six  miles  fudder  01*,  I  t'ink." 

"  They  might  as  well  be  in  the  mountains  of  the  moon,  rascal, 
for  any  good  they  can  be  to  me !" 

The  gout  grew  worse,  with  the  mental  annoyance.  Half  an 
hour  was  consumed  in  cries  and  groans,  and  ravings,  and  con 
jectures,  and  suggestions  !  But  the  situation  of  the  party  was 
one  admitting  of  no  feasible  plans,  relying  as  they  had  to  do 
upon  their  own  resources  only.  Thought  was  resourceless. 

In  the  midst  of  their  tribulation,  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
were  heard  at  a  smart  trot.  In  a  few  moments,  a  squad  of 
twenty  mounted  men  rode  up,  dressed  in  a  rich  green  uniform. 
At  their  head  came  a  handsome  young  lieutenant,  scarcely 
twenty-five,  of -fine  face  and  figure,  uniformed  like  the  rest, 
with  a  thick  bunch  of  ostrich  plumes,  dyed  green  like  the  uni 
form,  trailing  over  his  cap,  which  was  of  a  soft  beautiful  fur. 

The  troop  stopped  naturally  at  the  carriage ;  the  officer  rode 
up  and  addressed  the  inmates,  announcing  himself  as  Lieutenant 
Nelson,  of  his  majesty's  loyal  Carolina  rifles.  He  was  soon 
inade  to  understand  the  condition  of  the  party,  and  told  a1!  the 


STRANDED    OX    TOE    KIND'S    HIGHWAY.  •'><  i 

particulars  of  their  recent  misadventure.  When  the  outlaw* 
were  described,  Nelson  said  : — 

"  These  are  the  very  rascals  of  whom  I  am  in  pursuit.  They 
are  deserters  from  Lord  Rawdon's  command ;  have  evidently 
thrown  off  their  uniforms  :  exchanged  them,  probably,  with  the 
backwoodsmen  by  whom  they  have  been  seduced  from  their 
ranks.  I  n.-ast  pursue  them  !" 

He  was  told,  by  Sam,  in  what  direction  the  deserters  fled. 

'  But  you  will  not  leave  us,  lieutenant,  in  this  situation.  I 
am  a  loyal  subject  of  his  majesty.  My  name  is  Sinclair,  of 
Sinclair  barony,  well  known  to  Lord  E-awdon,  with  whom  I 
have  the  honor  to  be  intimate  —  with  whom  I  had  a  long  inter 
view  last  night,  at  Monck's  Corner.  Can  you  not  succor  me  in 
this  strait  1  H<s  lordship  would." 

"  His  lordship  can  do,  Colonel  Sinclair,  what  I  can  not.  I 
was  not  with  his  lordship  last  night — have  not  yet  reached 
Monck's  Corner  ;  but  was  despatched  yesterday  morning  on 
lhis  very  service.  It  is  an  important  one.  His  lordship  feels 
it  necessary  to  enforce  severely  the  penalties  against  desertion, 
and  lias  given  me  instructions  so  urgent,  that  I  am  not  permit 
ted  to  turn  to  the  right  or  the  left,  unless  in  carrying  them  out. 
I  feel  deeply  for  your  situation ;  and  if  I  can  send  you  any 
assistance,  or  find  it  possible  to  return  here  to  your  relief,  I 
shall  bt  most  happy  to  do  so.  Believe  me,  my  dear  sir,  noth 
ing  w>"ld  afford  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  be  of  service  tc 
you  ana  to  these  young  ladies." 

The  baron  :ould  only  groan,  when  the  lieutenant  had  disap 
peared,  which  he  did  some  few  moments  after;  the  old  man 

d d  all  polite  speakers;  all  fellows  capable  of  an  apology, 

or  excuse,  on  all  occasions  —  all  professions  that  never  mean 
performance.  Poor  Carrie  could  only  weep  secretly.  She 
thought  that  the  young  lieutenant  had  shown,  along  with  most 
courteous  manners,  a  real  desire  to  be  of  service,  and  an  honest, 
genuine  sympathy  :  but  she  said  nothing. 

The  sun,  meanwhile,  seemed  to  be  travelling  west  with  mon 
strous  rapidity.  Old  Sam  shook  his  head,  as  ii  to  say,  "  It's  all 
up  with  us."  In  the  load,  far  from  human  habitation,  night  ap 
proaching,  no  food  for  supper  —  what  a  prospect !  Fortunately 


378  EUTAW. 

the  season  was  such  that  a  night  in  the  open  air  was  no  disaster 
though  the  loss  of  supper  may  be  very  distasteful. 

But  the  dove  of  promise  appears,  breaking  through  the  cloud. 
Whiie  the  little  family  \*  ere  beginning  fully  to  appreciate  all 
the  a&sagremens  of  their  situation,  a  horseman  and  another  car 
riage  hove  in  sight,  coming  from  above. 

How  things  work  together  under  providential  laws !  This 
carriage  was  that  of  Mrs.  Travis,  containing  that  lady  and  her 
daughter,  and  escorted  by  our  old  acquaintance,  'Bram.  They 
had  been  kept  back  a  day,  in  consequence  of  Lord  Rawdoirs 
progress,  and  were  now  following  slowly  in  his  wake.  Their 
purpose  was  to  get  to  Nelson's  ferry  by  night.  They  discov 
ered,  or  rather  were  apprized  of  the  appearance  of  Colonel  Sin 
clair's  carriage,  long  before  their  own  vehicle  was  perceived  by 
the  other  party.  'Bram  being  their  vanguard,  and  riding  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  ahead,  saw  and  recognised  the  vehicle  of  his 
old  master,  in  season  to  ride  back  and  inform  the  party.  That 
it  was  without  horses  was  a  subject  of  surprise  and  apprehen 
sion,  which  left  the  trusty  negro  in  a  shivering  fit.  Why  were 
the  horses  gone  ?  He  could  perceive  no  signs  of  life  from  the 
distance  at  which  he  beheld  the  carriage,  and  a  thousand  fears 

—  such  as  the  condition  of  the  tine  was  apt    to    occasion  — 
rushed  into  his  thoughts.     The  party  might  have  been  robbed 

—  must  have  been  —  and,  if  robbed,  why  not  murdered'?     He 
dashed  back  to  the  carriage  of  Mrs.  Travis,  with  all  speed,  to 
report  his  intelligence.     Their  horses  were  drawn  up,  while  a 
brief  consultation   ensued    among  the    travellers.      It  was,   at 
length,   decided  to   go  forward.     Whether   living    or   dead,   it 
would    seem   that   Colonel    Sinclair's   family   were   in   trouble. 
But,  before  jnoving,  Mrs.  Travis  was  careful  to  insist  upon  cer 
tain  precautions.     She  called  'Bram  up. 

"  Remember,"  said  she,  "  'Bram,  we  are  on  no  account  to  be 
made  known  to  Colonel  Sinclair,  or  his  family.  We  insist  upon 
this,  as  much  on  your  master's  account  as  on  our  own." 

"  I  comperhends,"  answered  'Bram,  with  a  knowing  look, 
and  significant  shake  of  the  head.  The  negro,  in  fact,  well 
understood  the  delicacy  of  his  young  master's  situation,  and  his 
father's  prejudices. 


STRANDED    ON   THE    KING'S    HIGHWAY.  879 

"  You  must  call  us  by  some  other  name ;  any  name  but  that 
of  Travis,"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  call  you  Smit' — Miss  Smit'.  Da's  easy  name  for  'member, 
Der's  a  heap  o'  people  in  the  worl',  I  know,  wha's  name  Smit'." 

"  As  you  please,  'Bram ;  only  do  not  forget  yourself.  You 
may  tell  what  story  you  think  proper  to  account  for  being  with 
us.  You  are  iu  search  of  your  young  master,  and  we  happened 
to  be  travelling  the  same  route." 

The  story  thus  far  was  true,  though  evasive.  It  was  agreed 
upon  —  one  of  those  white  lies,  harming  nobody,  which  every 
body  legitimates  in  good  society  and  times  of  war.  The  pom 
pous  Cato  had  his  instructions  also,  and  the  servant-girl ;  and, 
thus  prepared,  with  all  precautions  taken,  'Bram  was  permitted 
to  canter  ahead  again,  and  open  the  negotiations.  Cato,  at  the 
same  time,  as  if  eager  to  have  his  share  in  them,  hemmed  audi 
bly,  lifted  his  hat  on  his  forehead,  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar,  and 
gave  his  horses  the  whip,  following,  as  fast  as  possible,  in  the 
tracks  of  'Brain,  the  vanguard. 

'Brain  was  soon  up  with  the  wrecked  carriage,  and  expres 
sing  his  mixed  delight  and  dismay  in  unmeasured  language. 

"  Da  you,  ole  maussa  ?  Da  you,  young  missis  ?  and  you  too, 
little  Lottie  ?  Lawd  bress  my  soul !  I  so  grad  for  see  you !  and 
wha'  you  da  do  yer,  and  all  de  hoss  gone  ?" 

"  Do  !     But  what  carriage  is  that  behind  you,  'Bram  1" 

"  Dat !  Oh,  dat  day  Miss  Smit'  carriage — Miss  Smit'  an'  he 
da'ter." 

"  And  who  the  d — 1  is  Miss  Smith  ?  Where  did  you  come  up 
with  these  people  ?" 

"  I  pick  'em  up  on  de  road.  I  day  look  for  young  maussa, 
and  dis  Miss  Smit'  guine  de  same  road  down  for  Nelson  ferry, 
where  I  yerry  young  maussa  is  for  be  by  dis  time.  Da's  de 
way  I  come  for  pick  'em  up." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  them  then  ?" 

"  How  me  for  know  ?  I  jis  pick  'em  up,  1  tell  you,  trab'ling 
le  high  road.  Da  3  de  how  ob  it." 

'Bram  could  lie  with  any  dragoon,  whether  in  the  regular  or 
ranger  service,  and  do  the  thing  unctuously,  and  win  the  repu 
tation  of  great  sanctity  from  the  grace  of  his  execution.  Of 
course,  many  more  things  were  said,  especially  between  *Brar» 


B#0  EUTAW. 

and  Sain,  who  were  cousins  in  tlie  fourth  degree,  and  had  no 
love  for  eacli  other  in  any  degree ;  'Bram  holding  Sam  to  be  a 
drone,  and  a  sneak ;  and  Sam  regarding  'Bram  as  quite  toe 
loose  in  his  morals  for  good  society ;  a  looseness  which  he 
ascrihed  to  his  army  connections  entirely. 

Meanwhile,  the  carriage  of  "Miss  Smit'"  drew  nigh,  drew 
up,  and  Carrie  Sinclair  was  pleased  and  surprised  to  discover  in 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Smith  the  two  ladies  that  had  so  briefly  dial- 
leitged  the  hospitality  of  the  barony,  when  poor  Nelly  Floyd 
was  brought  in  wounded.  It  did  not  require  many  words  to 
explain  the  condition  of  the  Sinclair  family  —  their  predica 
ment —  or  what  Dick  of  Tophet  would  call  "their  fix!"  The 
affair  was  one  to  render  the  Smith  family  exceedingly  anxious 
for  themselves;  their  own  horses;  their  own  safety  —  particular 
ly  when  they  understood  that  the  opposing  forces  were  then 
actually  in  conflict  along  the  route  below  —  heaving  to  and  frc; 
with  their  foragers  and  scouts,  on  every  road,  and  their  skir 
mishing  parties  prowling  through  every  covert.  Mrs.  Travis, 
alias  Smith,  at  once  determined  what  to  do.  She  said  to  her 
daughter : — 

"  We  must  go  back  to  Mrs.  Avinger's,  my  dear.  It  is  but 
seven  miles  back,  and  we  can  gain  its  friendly  shelter,  I  trust, 
without  difficulty." 

The  daughter  assented  in  silence. 

Then,  Mrs.  Travis,  turning  to  Colonel  Sinclair,  said: — 

"  I  see  but  one  way  to  serve  you  and  your  daughters,  Co/o- 
m>l  Sinclair,  and  thai  is,  to  give  you  what  room  we  can  in  my 
cairiage.  My  servant-maid  and  your  own  can  walk:  in  two 
Lours,  the  distance  we  shall  have  to  go  in  order  to  reach  a  house 
to-night.  There  is  one  at  that  distance  owned  by  Mrs.  Avin- 
tjer,  who  has  entertained  us  ever  since  I  left  your  house.  She 
has  room  enough,  and  is  so  good  a  Christian  —  so  tririy  kind 
and  hospitable  —  that  I  venture  to  say,  that  she  will  as  cheer 
fully  shelter  you,  as  she  sheltered  us." 

This  proposition  was  a  great  relief  to  our  stranded  party.  It 
was  gratefully  welcomed  by  the  baron  ;  and  the  tearful  smilee 
of  Carrie,  and  her  deeply-toned,  "  Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !" 
were  full  of  heart,  and  at  once  satisfied  Bertha  Travis  of  thf 
justice  of  Willie  Sinclair's  description  of  his  sister. 


STRANDED    UN    'iiil-;    KLNU'S    HIGHWAY.  381 

The  friendly  offer  of  Mrs.  Travis,  we  need  not  say,  was 
gratefully  accepted  ;  and,  as  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  tbe  parties 
proceeded  promptly  to  the  necessary  arrangements.  Bertha, 
taking  little  Lottie  in  her  lap,  placed  herself  at  once  on  the 
front  seat,  with  Cato,  the  driver.  Mrs.  Travis  and  Carrie 
found  seats  opposite  each  other  within,  while  a  back  seat,  witlt 
one  vacant  in  front,  was  assigned  to  the  veteran  and  his  game 
leg.  The  worst  task  was  to  lift  him  out  of  the  one,  and  into  the 
other  vehicle,  so  as  to  avoid  inflicting  pain.  He  could  not  pu'", 
hie  feet  to  the  ground.  In  a  soldierly  attempt  to  do  so,  without 
cine  heed  to  the  helping  arms  of  'Brain  and  Cato,  the  old  man 
--line  down  in  the  sands,  and  screamed  out  with  the  suffering 
*"he  performance  was  finally  affected,  but  not  without  much 
"rouble  and  to  him  great  torture.  He  tried  to  bear  it,  with  (at 
aiost)  a  grin,  being  in  the  presence  of  strange  ladies ;  but  he 
could  not  hold  Out  stoically  long ;  and  accustomed  always  to 
declare  his  feelings  loadly,  whatever  they  were,  his  groans 
were  soon  audible  enough,  to  the  shame,  as  he  felt  it,  of  hir 
manhood. 

At  length,  the  whole  party  was  comfortably  crowded  into  the 
ono  vehicle,  cushions,  luggage,  and  all,  the  servant-maids  being 
crowded  out.  To  these  the  gallant  'Bram  gave  up  his  own 
tiorse,  and  they  rode  him  double.  'Bram  and  Cato  then,  with 
vigorous  shoulders,  succeeded  in  wheeling  the  wreck  out  of  tht 
road,  arid  into  the  woods,  where  they  hoped  to  recover  it  — 
after  certain  days.  With  this  trouble,  the  perils  of  the  day 
were  over.  The  carriage  reached  the  widow  Avinger's  after 
night,  but  in  safety ;  and  that  good  Samaritan  confirmed  all  the 
assurances  of  Mrs.  Travis,  by  a  frank  and  unaffected  welcome 
to  ail  her  unexpected  visitors.  Mrs.  Travis,  by  the  way,  took 
an  early  opportunity  to  admonish  her  hostess,  that  she  must  be 
Known  only  as  Mrs.  Smith.  To  justify  herself  in  this  change  of 
•  i  une,  she  felt  it  necessary  to  put  the  widow  in  possession  of  the 
peculiar  relations  in  which  her  daughter  stord  to  the  Sinclair 
family  —  a  revelation  which  she  made  frankly,  having  the  ul 
most  confidence  in  the  prudence  and  sympathy  of  her  auditor. 
And  thus,  having  safely  disposed  of  the  two  families,  lut  tti 
leave  them  for  the  night. 


UNI    I 


EUTA*. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

SHOWING     HOW     THE     SCOUT,    BALLOU,    DID     NOT    CATCii     NELL* 
FLOYD,  AND  HOW  HE  CAME  NIGH  TO  BEING  CAUGHT  HIMSELF. 

LORD  RAWDON,  before  leaving  Monck's  Corner,  re-established 
the  post  at  that  place ;  strengthening  the  force  of  Coates  witL 
a  portion  of  his  ow\  detachment.  He  also  re-established  the 
post  at  Wantoot,  and  put  the  small  body  of  royal  rifles,  under 
Lieutenant  Nelson,  at  Pooshee  —  an  old  Indian  settlement,  liko 
Wantoot  and  Watboo  —  all  of  which  are  Indian  names.  On 
his  way  to  Charleston  he  re-occupied  Dorchester,  and  sent  frouu 
the  city  a  strong  body  for  this  garrison.  The  guards  at  Goose 
creek,  and  Four-Holes  Bridge,  and  the  Quarter-house,  were 
replaced  also.  He  thus  restored  all  the  posts  of  which  :>ur 
'  forayers"  had  so  recently  dispossessed  him  ;  and,  satisfied  now, 
that,  for  the  present,  Greene  wa&  not  prepared  to  move  from  the 
Santee  hills,  and  that  the  raid  oi  our  partisans  —  which  had 
been  as  sudden,  and  as  swift  in  passage,  as  the  fire  in  the  grassy 
prairies  —  was  over  for  the  dog-days  —he  took  for  granted  that 
ail  these  points  could  be  easily  maintained  so  long  as  Colonel 
Stewart  kept  his  ground  at  Ovangeburg,  or  at  any  point  above 
Mor-sk's  Corner.  Ee  had  thus  done  all,  within  Ms  power,  to 
put  the  British  cause  in  goo.d  condition  in  Carolina,  before  he 
left  tr:e  country-  We  have  already  shown  what  were  his  own 
fortunes  by  sea ;  and  how  he  returned,  only  to  behold  one  of 
the  last  desperate  struggles  of  the  royal  army  to  maintain  itself 
in  the  colonies,  finish  in  disaster. 

But,  while  such  was  the  progress  among  the  partisans,  and 
inch  the  progress  of  Coates,  and  the  proceedings  of  Rawdon, 
we  are  no*  to  suppose  thai  *^r\  v°vt.  of  Oie  W9"kf|  not  engaged 


HOW  THE  SCOUT  CAME  NIGH  BEING  CAUGHT.  383 

in  these  events,  was  idly  looking  on.  The  world  shall  be  in 
commotion  everywhere — states  and  systems  threatened  with  over 
throw  and  convulsion — yet  you  will  find  thousands  busy  in  their 
small  economies — dressing  their  steaks  and  eating  them — taking  good 
heed  to  their  own  petty,  selfish  strategics,  without  troubling  them 
selves  one  instant  about  the  disorder  among  the  planets.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  there  may  be  a  certain  wisdom  in  not  suffering  the  sympa 
thies  to  spread  over  too  broad  a  surface. 

And  so,  Captain  Inglehardt  worked  in  his  small  empire,  un 
disturbed  by  the  commotion  in  bigger  .spheres.  His  duties  we're 
ostensibly  heavy.  He  had  to  do  a  share  in  the  foraging  busi 
ness  of  the  camp  of  Stewart  at  Orangeburg  —  no  easy  matter, 
we  assure  you,  to  supply  food  and  forage  to  two  thousand  hun 
gry  soldiers  cantoned  on  the  Edisto  at  this  season  ;  particularly 
as  few  of  the  Bull  family  can  easily  be  persuaded  to  find  the 
chicken  snake  a  delicacy,  the  alligator  a  bon  bouche,  or  the  frog 
nutritious.  Captain  Porgy  would  have  been  a  rare  commissary 
at  such  a  juncture.  If  Arnold  was  worth  ten  thousand  guineas, 
for  his  unprofitable  treason,  our  partisan  epicure  should  command 
thrice  the  amount  for  his  services  in  art.  His  ingenious  capacity 
for  the  cuisine  would  equally  improve  the  resources  in  the  depart 
ment,  and  the  tastes  which  the  soldiers  fed.  He  would  have  raised 
the  standards  of  the  British  morale,  by  inculcating  a  higher  order  of 
kitchen  sentiment. 

But,  hard  as  the  work  appears  at  this  juncture,  of  foraging 
for  the  wants  of  the  British  army,  Captain  Inglehardt  takes 
good  care  not  to  suffer  it  to  press  too  heavily  upon  him.  He 
takes  it  easily.  He  gives  it  only  so  much  of  his  leisure  as  he 
can  afford  from  his  own  pursuits.  ^  Occasionally,  lie  drives  a 
score  or  two  of  lean  cattle  into  the  shambles  of  the  garrison,  and 
thus  maintains  the  credit  of  his  office.  And  these  he  strips  from 
whig  and  tory,  without  troubling  himself  with  any  nice  discrimi 
nations.  In  doing  this  duty,  he  docs  not  overlook  other  game. 
All's  grist  that  goes  to  his  mill.  Inglehardt,  not  to  deal  too 
mindngly  with  our  subject,  is  only  a  reputable  sort  of  picaroon. 
He  does  not  disdain  his  share  of  profitable  plunder.  He  has 
contrived  to  pick  up  a  few  negroes  in  his  rambles,  which  he 
conveys,  under  cover,  to  the  sea-board.  He  has  a  score  of 
fine  horses,  for  which  he  never  paid  a  copper  ;  and  he  does  not 


884  EUTAW. 

despise  even  smaller  profits.  Inglehardt  lias  a  taste  foi  gemi 
und  jewelry,  and  is  nursing  a  collection  —  for  study  possibly  — 
arid  for  these,  we  venture  to  affirm  that  he  never  expended  a 
sixpence. 

But  among  these  small  cares  and  performances,  our  captain 
of  loyalists,  has  larger  calculations  —  landed  estates  rise  before 
his  vision,  which  the  triumph  of  British  arms,  may  even  render 
baronial.  The  coldest  lymphatic  in  the  world  has  his  dreams 
and  fancies.  Tributary  to  this  dream  —  if  not  object  —  is  hig 
action  in  respect  to  the  family  of  Travis.  He  does  not  forget 
the  fair  bride  whom  he  has  chosen  to  bring  him  to  a  large  landed 
inheritance.  He  does  not  forget  the  peculiar  arts  of  conciliation, 
by  which  she  is  to  be  won.  In  brief,  he  does  not  neglect  the 
care,  if  he  docs  the  comforts  of  his  prisoners. 

These  divide  his  time  with  his  public  duties  and  private 
desires.  After  rendering  a  small  herd  of  cattle  to  the  commis 
sary  at  Orangeburg,  he  rides  forth  with  his  troopers,  dashes 
down  the  Charleston  road  along  the  Edisto,  till  he  gets  fairly 
out  of  whoop  and  sight  of  the  garrison,  then  wheels  about  on 
an  easterly  course,  and  makes  for  his  secret  fastnesses,  where 
the  Trailer  holds  his  captives.  He  has  sent  a  squad  in  advance, 
under  the  command  of  Devil-Dick,  carrying  supplies  of  grist 
and  bacon.  They  have  preceded  him  by  a  day.  It  concerns 
us  to  mention  one  additional  fact  only,  in  connection  with  this 
statement ;  the  obscure,  unstable,  profligate  boy,  Mat  Floj  i, 
accompanies  this  detachment.  It  finds  its  harborage  in  the 
old  camp,  near  the  swamp  refuge  of  Inglehardt.  Need  we  say, 
that  close  at  its  heels,  Nelly  Floyd,  our  "  Harricane  Nelly, 'r 
faithful  to  the  last  —  faithful  to  a  mere  superstition  —  follows,  on 
her  little  pony,  on  the  heels  of  her  profligate  brother. 

And  what  of  the  inmates  of  the  swamp—  our  Captain  Travis, 
and  the  brave  boy,  Henry,  his  son  ?  They  have  fallen  into 
worse  hands  than  those  of  Dick  of  Tophet.  Ralph  Branson, 
the  Trailer,  is  not  of  such  warm  blood  as  Devil-Dick.  He  has 
no  such  impulses.  He  is,  therefore,  the  more  proper  instrument 
of  Inglehardt  in  a  work  of  cruelty.  His  prisoners  feel  the 
difference ! 

Dick  of  Tophet,  as  his  name  implies,  is  a  sulphurous  cus 
tomer.  Branson,  the  Trailer,  rather  fears  than  loves  him. 


HOW    THE   SCOl'I     JAME   NIGH    BEIIit.    UA  UGHT.          385 


Tl.ey  have  been  long  allied  ir  wickedUL-ss,  and  know  eac?" 
utlier  thoroughly.  Dick  of  Topuet,  at  all  events,  knows  his 
ruan.  Hardly  had  ne  arrived  at  his  old  cabin  in  Muddiest 
Castle,  than  he  summoned  the  Trailer  to  his  presence. 

"Well,  E-afe,  how  air  you  gitting  on  here  in  the  bog?  Up 
to  your  eyes  in  the  miseries  of  good  living,  eh  ]" 

"  Hairdly  that,  sence  you've  a'most  starved  us.  You  was  a 
mighty  long  time  a-fetching  that  injeal  and  bacon." 

"  Well,  it's  come  at  last,  and  so  there'll  be  feasting  after  the 
starvation.  But  that  'minds  me  to  aix  how  the  prisoners  git  on  ? 
Hev  you  starved  them  into  consenting  yet  ?" 

"  Why,  we  ain't  starving  them  at  all  We  feeds  them  rigilar 
a  very  day." 

"  Psho  I  Don't  T  know  what  that  feeding  means  ?  Hain't  I 
done  a  leetle  of  it  myself,  till  I  was  ashamed  of  it  ?  I  wish  you 
uick  of  the  business.  I  tell  you,  Rafe  Brunson,  none  of  the 
mean,  wicked,  rascally  things  I  ever  did  in  all  my  life,  ever 
went  so  hard  agin  the  grain  —  agin  my  conscience  —  as  the 
putting  that  poor  boy  on  short  'lowance  ;  and  seeing  the  hunger 
his  eyes,  like  a  ravenous  wolf,  ready  to  roar  out  whenever 
m  ;jut  seed  the  sight  of  bread  or  meat.  I'm  glad,  ef  that  busi 
ness  is  to  be  done,  that  it's  put  into  anybody's  hands  but  mine. 
You're  the  man  for  it,  Rafe.  You  kin  cut  out  the  very  heart  of 
a  man  —  that  is,  when  you've  got  him  flat  of  his  back  —  and  his 
eyes  looking  up  to  your'n,  and  begging  for  marcy  all  the  time. 
And  that,  too,  when  you've  got  no  eenmity  agin  him.  But  gi' 
us  the  key,  Rafe  ;  I  wants  to  take  a  look  at  the  boy,  and  hev  a 
word  with  him." 

Brunson  hesitated. 

"  But  the  cappin  said  I  wa'n't  to  let  any  body  see  him." 

"  To  be  sure  not.  But  that  anybody  don't  mean  me.  Gi'  us 
the  key,  old  fellow." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  Dick  ;  but  you  see  —  " 

"I  see  you're  a  born  fool  !  —  that's  what  you  air  —  and  hev 
your  head  a  leetle  turned  by  promotion  —  that's  it  —  and  yet,  you 
bloody  fool,  ef  it  hadn't  been  for  a  word  of  mine,  where  would 
your  promotion  ha'  been  1  I've  been  the  making  of  you,  you 
born  sneak  !  and  now  you've  got  your  tail  up  for  a  start  away 
(i  ,m  the  very  hands  that's  showed  you  how  to  run  !  But,  you 

7 


386  EUTA*. 

ain't  out  of  the  hairncss  yet,  R?.fr,  and  111  hov  to  put  a  new 
and  a  bigger  kairb  in  your  jaws.  Gi'  us  tlic  key  !" 

Dick  of  Topliet  knew  his  man,  as  we  have  said.  Ralph 
Brunson  was  bullied  out  of  his  trusts  for  awhile.  He  gave  up 
ihe  key  misgivingly,  saying,  entreatingly,  as  he  did  so  :— 

"  Now,  Dick,  you  knows  I  trust  you.  But  don't  let  out  to 
;le  ;iappin —  eh?" 

"  Teach  a  cat  how  to  lap  milk,''  said  the  other.  "  Don't  you 
lie  afeard,  Rafe.  I  cut  my  eye  teeth,  when  you  was  a-tryiug  to 
chaw  on  the  naked  gums.  I  knows  the  cappin  jest  as  well  as  I 
knows  you."  And,  taking  the  reluctant  key,  he  disappeared. 

In  Blodgit's  cabin,  he  found  the  respectable  rheumatic  mother 
of  that  amiable  cripple. 

"  Well,  old  woman,  how  gets  on  ?     How's  the  rheumatiz  ?" 

"Bad  enough,  Joel  Andrews;  I  only  wish  I  was  out  of  this 
alligator  country.  I  shall  never  be  a  well  woman  in  these 
parts." 

"  Don't  think  you  ever  was  a  well  woman  anywhar.  Ever 
sence  I  heard  of  you,  you've  been  ailing  and  out  of  sorts — al 
ways  sick  as  a  buzzard,  and  sour  as  a  hawk." 

"  That's  what  you  knows.  I  could  tell.  But  I'll  never  DO 
well  agin  here.  I  only  wish  I  war  back  again  to  the  Sinklar 
place.  Ah,  we  had  fine  times  thar;  but  that  poor  fool  son  of 
mine,  he  couldn't  be  easy;  and  you  come,  with  your  pack  of 
roaring  housebreakers,  and  routed  us  from  the  best  place  in  the 
world." 

"  Psho !  you  routed  yourself,  with  your  hankering  a'tei 
Millie  Sinklar's  guineas  ;  which  you  didn't  know  how  to  keep 
a'ter  you  hed  'em.  /  could  ha'  show'd  you.  But  the  chaince 
is  gone,  this  time,  and  you'll  never  hev  another  like  it." 

"  I'll  try  for  it.  I'll  git  out  of  this  alligator-hole  as  soon  as 
I  kin." 

"  You  won't.  You're  hyar  for  life,  old  woman,  and  for  death, 
too ;  for  when  your  last  kick's  over,  we'll  drop  you  in  one  of 
them  same  alligator-holes,  leaving  it  to  them  to  give  you  Chris- 
tia-n  burial." 

"  In  their  cussed  stomachs  you  mean  ?'* 

"  Jes'  so." 

*  Yon're  a  hateful  scamp  of  a  sinner,  and  no  bette-  than  a 


HOW   THE   SCOUT   CAME   NIGH    BEING   CAUGHT.          o3- 

!>orn  son  of  the  old  devil  himself,  Joel  Andrews,  and  ef  ever  I 
git  a  cliaince — " 

"  Look  you,  old  woman,  don't  be  cutting  any  shines  now. 
Cappin  Inglehardt  ain't  the  sort  of  pusson  that  Willie  Sinklar 
is.  It's  a  short  cu*  with  him  to  the  consekences.  Ef  you,  or 
your  son,  starts  off  from  hyar,  without  aixing  leave,  you'll  hoth 
of  you  limp  a  great  deal  worse  than  ever.  You'll  come  to  a 
dead  halt,  I  tell  you." 

"  And  what  right  has  he  to  keep  me  hyar,  I  want  to  know, 
wliar  thar's  no  gittings  or  airnings  ?  Pete  ain't  seed  the  shine 
of  Cappin  Ingl'art's  guineas  yit." 

"Pete  lies!" 

"  What !  the  cappin's  paM  him,  and  he  ain't  let  me  see  a 
shilling  ?  And  to  tell  me  such  a  broad,  barefaced  lie  about  it 
too  !  'Twas  jest  so  with  Sinklar's  guineas.  Tjetead  of  giving 
'em  to  me  to  keep  —  me,  his  own  mammy — he  digs  a  hole  and 
sticks  a  post  over  'em,  jest  to  show  people  whar  to  look." 

"  Well,  give  him  the  hickories.  I  kain't  talk  to  you  now.  I 
>/ant.s  to  see  this  boy-pris'ner  you've  got  hyar.  How's  ho  git 
ting  on  ?" 

"  Well,  he's  poorly.     He  don't  eat  much." 

"  Does  he  git  it  to  eat,  much  ?" 

"  Yes,  his  'lowance  is  rigilar ;  but  Rafe  Brunson  says  he's  not 
so  well,  and  mus'n't  hev  too  much.  But  it's  the  want  o'  eating, 
I  thinks,  that  makes  him  poorly.  'Twould  kill  me,  Pm  sartin." 

"  You're  a  wise  woman,  in  spite  of  them  rheumatisms.  But 
git  off  now  to  your  shakedown.  I'm  going  to  exammate  the 
boy  for  myself."  - 

And  he  pushed  the  crone  aside,  opened  the  door,  and  passed 
into  the  dark  and  cheerless  dungeon  of  poor  Henry  Travis.  He 
could  see  but  little  there,  until  he  brought  in  a  torch  of  light 
wood,  and  kindled  a  blaze  upon  the  hearth  ;•  then  he  looked 
about  him,  and  spoke  —  "Well,  my  young  sodger,  how  does 
the  wolf  gnaw  by  this  time  ?" 

Henry  roused  himself,  as  if  from  sleep  or  stupor,  or  both  to 
gcther,  and  looked  upon  his  visiter  with  a  languid,  spiritless  v"r. 
f3:fference,  which  sufficiently  declared  how  he  had  suffered 
When  youth,  full  of  blood,  hope  enthusiasm,  is  thus  subduec 
the  suffering  is  not  to  b;>  described.  That  it  is  borne,  endure.! 


388  EUTAW. 

without  the  party  sinking  under  it,  is  guaranty  for  large  natural  re 
sources,  of  physique  and  mind.  The  boy  was  wan  of  aspect,  and 
evidently  very  feeble.  After  a  brief  space,  his  eye  brightened,  as  if 
in  recognition  of  his  visitor.  "  Ah!  "  he  said,  "  is  it  you?  I'm  glad 
to  see  you." 

"  Did  you  miss  me,  boy?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  I'm  so  lonesome.  It's  so  dark  here;  and  I'm  so 
hungry!" 

' '  Hungry  !  I  reckon  so.  Hist,  boy — "  and  the  wary  Dick  of 
Tophet  went  to  the  door,  opened  it  slightly,  looked  into  the 
hall,  and  closing  the  door,  returned  quickly.  "Hist,  boy,"  said 
he,  "  I've  brought  you  something  to  mend  your  appetite." 

With  these  words  he  drew  a  small  sack  from  under  his  coat, 
the  contents  of  which,  when  unveiled,  made  the  eyes  of  Henry 
Travis  glitter  with  a  wolfish  brightness* 

"Hyar's  some  ham  and  biscuit.  Thar,  take  a  bite  and  a  biscuit. 
Eat!  And  now,  jest  you  listen  to  me.  I'll  leave  all  of  these  with 
you.  But  you  must  hide  'em  away;  and  promise  me,  honest  now, 
only  to  eat  three  of  these  biscuit,  and  a  slice  or  two  of  the  ham 
a-day;  for,  you  see,  'twon't  do  to  waste.  I  don't  know  when  I  kin 
git,  and  bring  you  any  more.  You  must  make  these  last  as  long  as 
you  kin.  Thar's  another  reason.  'Twon't  do  for  you  to  be  looking  too 
well!  Jest  now,  try  and  look  as  bad  as  you  kin.  Thar's  good  reason 
for  if.  You  must  promise  me — "  and  he  gave  the  boy  another 
biscuit. 

"I  will  promise!"  cried  Henry,  munching  greedily.  "I  will 
promise:  but  what's  the  reason?  Why  does  he  starve  me?  " 

"Oh,  he  don't  want  to  starve  you  edzactl/;  jest  keep  you 
down  in  the  flesh,  and  sick-looking.  It's  to  work  on  your 
daddy." 

"My  father!  what!  are  they  starving  him?" 

"  No!  I  reckon  not  —  not  edzactly;  though,  I  reckon,  the  cappin's 
for  keeping  him  down  in  the  flesh  too.  Now,  look  you,  boy,  I'll 
show  you  a  hiding-plnce,  for  the  rest  of  these  biscuit.  You  mus'n't 
eat  no  more  now. " 

"  Oh,  give  me  but  one  more  !"  was  the  piteous  entreaty  of  the 
boy." 

"  Not  a  bite,  my  lark.  You've  had  enough  for  one  devour 
ing,  and  you  must  soluinn,  like  a  pusson  of  honor,  promise  me 


HOW   THE    SCOUT   CAME-  NIGH    BEING    CAUGHT.         389 

not  to  eat  more  than  three  of  these  biscuits  a  day.  I  knows  you; 
and  ef  you  say,  '  I  promise/  I'll  b'lieve  you." 

"  I  do  promise;  but  give  me  one  more  now  ! " 

"  Not  a  bite.  'Twould  do  you  hurt.  You've  hed  enough  for 
one  time.  To-morrow,  take  three,  and  two  bits  of  ham.  You'll 
find  all  cut  up,  and  ready  for  you  to  devour.  See  hyar's  a  hole  in 
the  logs.  Look  at  me,  whar  I  put  them  in.  Hyar,  you  see,  ef 
you'll  only  work  on  this  peg,-  you  kin  take  out  this  block,  and 
you  see  thar's  a  sort  of  box  in  the  wall,  alongside  the  floor." 
And,  showing  him  the  hiding-place,  the  inflexible  Dick  of 
Tophet,  who  would  not  give  our  young  hungerer  a  single  addi 
tional  "  bite,"  yet  supplied  him  with  a  stock  to  last  several 
days,  meted  out  by  his  prescribed  limits.  Oh,  how  Henry 
hungered  to  break  those  limits  !  But  he  bravely  overcame  the 
temptation. 

"  You  see,  boy,  I  didn't  forgit  you,  tho'  I  hed  enough  besides 
to  think  upon.  But  you're  a  fine  fellow.  You  hed  me  under 
your  knife,  and  you  didn't  stick !  and  you  read  to  me  in  that 
book.  I've  got  that  book  yit,  and,  may  be,  I'll  come  and  git  you 
to  read  a  bit  in  it  to-night,  ivi.lv  Jest  you  now  be  strong- 

hearted,  and  don't  turn  milk  and  waterish,  like  a  gal,  and  you'll  be 
a  sodger  yit." 

"  But  my  father?" 

''Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  'bout  him!  I  kaint  tell  you  nothing. 
He  ain't  in  no  danger,  I  reckon,  though  he's  captivated  jest  like 
yourself." 

"  But  they  starve  him  too?  " 

"I  don't  think.  It's  you  that  the  cappin's  a  sperimentin' 
on." 

With  these  words,  Devil-Dick  hurried  away.  He  did  not 
forget  his  politics  in  his  friendship.  He  rejoined  his  camp, 
which,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  was  usually  established  in 
the  woods,  about  a  mile  from  the  secret  fastnessess  of  Muddicoat 
Castle,  the  recesses  of  which  none  but  a  favored  few  were  per 
mitted  to  penetrate. 

About  half  a  mile  from  this  encampment,  in  a  still  deeper 
thicket,  Nelly  Floyd  made  her  encampment  also  —  she  and  her 
pony,  Aggy.  It  it  was  tending  toward  three  o'clock,  in  the  after 
noon  of  the  same  day  on  which  the  interview  of  Devil^Dick  with 


890  EUT^W. 

Henry  Travis  took  place,  when  Nelly,  seated  upon  the  grass, 
was  partaking  of  her  simple  forest-fare.  She  ton  had  biscuits, 
and  some  bits  of  dried  beef.  Where  she  got  them,  we  know 
not.  But  Nelly  had  her  friends  in  sundry  cottages,  and,  whore 
known,  she  was  always  a  favorite.  Aggy  was  browsing  about, 
apparently  quite  as  well  satisfied  as  her  mistress,  and,  like  her, 
totally  free  from  all  the  cares  of  ambition.  Nelly  Floyd  ate 
with  appetite.  Though  slight  of  frame,  she  was  vigorous  in 
high  degree.  Her  health  was  excellent,  though  she  rode  by 
day  in  the  sun,  and  slept  by  night  in  the  cool  glow  of  the  stellar 
heavens.  She  was  an  elastic  creature,  mind  and  body  elastic ; 
and  her  sunburned  cheek  had  a  certain  plumpness  about  it,  and 
her  bright  eye  never  drooped  a  lid,  even  when  her  soul  was 
drooping  most.  Fed  on  pure  thoughts,  she  had  never  a  fear ; 
though  she  had  sorrows  and  apprehensions  in  abundance.  She 
ate  heartily  of  her  simple  food,  and  drank  the  waters  of  tho 
brooklet  afterward,  with  the  relish  of  an  Arab,  who  has  just 
reached  a  fountain  in  the  desert. 

Stooping  and  drinking,  Nelly  looked  up,  and  was  surprised 
to  discover  a  stranger-1- a  man  seated  upon  a  fallen  tree,  and 
witnessing  her  performances.  Like  a  fawn  suddenly  roused  in 
the  wilderness,  by  the  sharp  bay  of  the  beagle,  Nelly  Floyd 
started,  with  a  consciousness  of  danger,  as  she  beheld  this  un- 
looked  for  spectator.  How  had  he  come  upon  her  so  suddenly 

so  stealthily  —  and  with  what  object?  She  prepared  to  £y, 
euul  edged  off  in  the  direction  of  her  pony,  who  was  still  grazing 
dome  thirty  yards  from  her  on  the  rising  slope  from  which  she 
had  descended  to  the  brooklet.  But  as  she  made  this  move 
ment,  the  stranger  also  started  into  activity  and  threw  himself 
between  her  and  the  pony.  He  was  on  foot,  like  herself;  but 
Le  too,  in  all  probability,  had  his  horse  at  hand.  Indeed,  we 
can  answer  for  it  boldly  that  he  had. 

"  Don't  be  scared,  young  woman,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I 
don't  mean  you  any  harm.  I  only  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
soaae  business  that's  of  great  importance  to  me  and  my  friends, 
and  I  reckon  you  can  tell  me  all  1  want  to  know  —  want  to 
know.  I've  been  looking  after  you  a  long  time,  and  followed 
your  trail  in^ every  direction  a  good  many  miles  —  many  miles. 
And  now,  you  see.  I've,  got  you  at  last ;  so  just  you  be  a  good 


HOW  THE   SCOUT   CAME   NIGH   BEING   CAUGHT.          391 

gal  now,  and  tell  me  what  I  want  to  Know  —  want  to  know  — 
and  no  harm  shall  come  to  you," 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  know  ?"  answered  the  girl  timidly. 

••'  "Well,  I'll  come  to  you,  since  you  don't  offer  io  come  to  me, 
for  't  won't  do  to  be  telling  what  I've  got  to  say  to  a!),  th?.  trees 
in  the  forest  — thi  forest." 

He  was  approaching,  when  she  said : — 

"  No  nearer  !  Speak  where  you  stand,  There  is  no  one  to 
hear  you  but  myself." 

"  How  do  I  know  that  ?  But  what's  to  scare  you  1  You 
don't  suppose  a  big  able-bodied  man  like  me  would  hurt  a  gal 
like  you." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Still,  as  your  voice  is  strong,  and  my  ears 
are  good,  you  can  speak  and  I  can  hear  just  where  we  are  a-t 
present.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  you  anything  that  is  im 
portant  to  you,  biu  whatever  I  can  tell,  that  will  hurt  nobody. 
I'm  willing  to  speak." 

"  Hurt !  no !  It's  to  help  somebody  that  I  want  you  to  speak. 
Help  somebody.  If  anybody's  to  be  hurt,  it's  only  them  that 
desarves  the  worst  that  a  heavy  hand  kin  put  upon  'em.  But 
I  don't  like  to  talk  so  loud,  my  girl.  Just  let  me  come  a  little 
nigher." 

"Not  a  step!"  said  the  girl  promptly  —  and  as,  at  that  mo 
ment,  he  began  to  move  toward  her,  she  sprang,  at  a  bound 
across  the  brooklet,  and  watched  his  course  with  apprehensive 
eyes  from  the  other  side.  The  stranger  looked  at  her  vexedly 
and  with  a  sharper  accent,  he  said  —  "What's  to  scare  you? 
As  I'm  an  honest  man,  I  don't  mean  tc  hurt  you." 

"  Better,"  said  the  "  girl,  that  you  shouldn't  have  the  opportu 
nity.  Speak  your  wishes  where  you  are  if  yo7J  desire  rne  to 
listen  to  them." 

:(  Well,"  said-  he,  in  somewhat  harsher  tones-—"  The  matter 
is  this.  You  have  been  following  after  the  steps  of  a  certain 
gang  of  rascals  that  harbor  about  and  in  them  yonder  swamps, 
where  I  know  they've  got  a  snug  hiding-place  somewhere,  and 
I  wants  to  find  it  out.  Now,  I'm  pretty  certain  that  you  know 
all  about  it;  for  I've  tracked  you  down  mighty  nigh  to  the 
edge,  and  I  have  tracked  you  away  from  it  agin.  I  know  you 
ain't  a  party  with  these  rapscallion  refugees,  for  I  see  that  you 


392  EUTAW. 

only  follows  their  tracks  and  don't  travel  with  'em.  What  you  fol 
low  them  for,  I  can't  reckon;  but  I'll  tell  you  right  out  and  about, 
that  I'm  following  them  to  try  and  get  out  of  their  iufarnal  clutches 
a  man  and  his  wife,  and  their  son  and  daughter — a  whole  family 
of  harmless  good  people,  that  a  black-hearted  etarnal  son  of  Satan 
named  Inglehardt  has  got  hid  away  in  some  dark  hole  in  the  wilder 
ness.  So  you  see,  it's  to  do  good  that  I  wants  you  to  give  me  help, 
and  just  put  me  in  the  way  of  scouting  about  their  hiding-places. 
That's  all— all  !  " 

"  A  mother  and  her  daughter!  "  said  the  girl,  looking  unconscious 
and  bewildered. 

"  A  most  excellent  good  woman,  and  her  most  beautiful  daughter, 
in  the  hands  of  the  most  infernal  black-hearted  Satan  of  a 
refugee  dragoon  that  ever  spiled  the  vines  with  his  hoofs.  I'm 
just  after  saving  them,  and  bringing  the  outlaw  rascals  to  justice 
and  execution.  Ef  I  kin  once  find  my  way  into  their  hiding-place, 
every  rascal  of  the  gang  shall  swing  for  it.  Hang  'em  every  one  — 
every  one! " 

The  girl  looked  terrified  at  these  words.  A  terror  possessed  her 
heart,  and  made  itself  apparent  in  her  eyes.  The  stranger  was  sur 
prised  at  the  effect  which  his  words  produced. 

"  What  scares  you?  "  said  he.  "I  didn't  say  I'd  hang  you,  only 
them  bloody  refugee  outlaw  rascals  in  the  swamp,  that's  captivated 
the  mother  and  the  daughter,  the  father  and  the  son  —  the  whole  in 
nocent  family.  It's  them  refugees  that's  to  hang,  and  the  sooner  the 
better  for  the  good  of  all  innocent  people." 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,"  said  the  girl  receding  —  "I  know  of  no 
mother  and  daughter  in  captivity.  I  know  of  no  people  that  you 
have  a  right  to  hang.  I  can  give  you  no  guidance." 

And  she  moved  backward  as  she  spoke. 

"  Ay,  but  you  must,  my  gal.  I  hain't  been  on  your  track  so  long 
to  give  you  up  now,  just  when  I've  got  you  at  last.  We  don't  part 
so  quickly.  You  must  let  out  what  you  know  about  this  swamp 
place  of  the  refugees,  and  until  you  do,  I'll  first  take  leave  to  keep  you 
a  prisoner." 

"Me  a  prisoner!  "  and  the  nostrils  of  the  girl  seemed  to  dilate,  as, 
giving  a  single  glance  at  the  stranger,  she  at  once  moved  off  toward 
the  woods  opposite. 

"You  don't  git  off,"  said  the  scout,   now  starting  in  pursuit 


HOW   THE   SCOUT    CAME    WGfi    BEING    CAUGHT,  8{f3 

and  throwing  himself  across  the  brooklet  ac  a  few  bounds. 
Ballon,  for  it  was  he,  w*>s  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  power,  and 
some  fleetness  arising  from  plentiful  muscle  and  early  training, 
and  never  doubted  his  ability  to  run  down  a  girl ;  and  possibly, 
were  the  costume  of  Nelly  Floyd  that  usually  worn  by  the  sex, 
he  might  easily  have  caught  her.  But  he  soon  found  that  his 
calculations  were  sadly  at  fault.  He  might  as  well  have  chased 
the  wind  in  its  play  with  the  ocean.  The  girl  left  him  behind, 
and  after  running  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  and  trapping  over 
a  root  which  brought  him  heavily  to  the  ground,  he  was  fain 
to  give  up  a  chase  which  promised  only  such  hazards.  He  roe*} 
panting,  and  vexed,  looking  wistfully  at  the  figure  of  the  girl,  a 
hundred  yards  beyond  him,  standing  quietly  beside  a  tree,  and 
looking  composedly  on  all  his  movements. 

"  Ay,  you're  a  laughing  at  me !"  quoth  he,  "  but  I  have  the 
means  to  catch  you  yet."  And  so  speaking  to  himself,  he 
wheeled  about,  recrossed  the  brooklet,  and  made  straight  toward 
Aggy,  the  pony,  who  was  quietly  browsing  still  and  showing  no 
sort  of  apprehension.  Ballou  did  not  doubt  that  he  should  be 
able  to  catch  the  unconscious  beast  who  never  lifted  head  as  he 
approached.  But  the  girl  had  divined  the  object  of  the  scout; 
and  at  the  very  moment,  wken  Ballou  thought  to  put  out  his 
hand  and  seize  the  bridle  of  the  beast,  which  was  hanging  loose, 
Nelly  whistled  shrilly  twice  or  thrice,  and  Aggy  bounded  away, 
throwing  up  her  heels  almost  in  the  face  of  the  stranger.  The 
pony  took  the  course  direct  toward  her  mistress,  and  looking 
after  both  of  them  with  wonder,  Ballou  mattered  to  himself — 
"  It's  like  what  they  tell  of  the  gypsies.  Mow,  all  the  teaching 
in  the  world,  wouldn't  make  that  big  beast  of  mine  follow  after 
me,  like  a  dog,  only  at  the  sound  of  a  whistle.  But  I  mus'n't 
lose  the  gal  now.  She's  got  the  clue  and  I  must  h«v  it.  She 
can't  get  off  from  me,  in  the  ],ng  run;  and  though  the  pony  is 
a  mighty  quick  little  goat  of  a  horse,  yet  its  tags  are  too  short 
to  devour  much  ground,  let  him  do  the  best  with  his  little  legs 
that  he  can !" 

Ballou  took  his  way  into  the  thickets  in  the  reu,  having  first 
seen  Nelly  mount  her  pony,  and  trot  off,  apparently  toward  the 
ro-ad  running  west  of  the  swamp.  When  he  had  fouL  1  anti 
mounted  his  horse,  and  got  back  to  the  npot  where  he  b*>i  seen 


EUTAW. 

her  last,  she  was  out  of  sight.  To  stop  to  look  for  her  tracks  would 
be  only  to  lose  her  entirely,  and  our  scout  started  off  accordingly, 
taking  his  course,  according  to  what  seemed  the  probabilities  of 
hers,  and  increasing  the  rapidity  of  the  chase,  in  due  degree  as  it 
seemed  to  be  most  objectless.  He  pursued  an  old  road,  and  hurried 
forward,  supposing  that  the  girl  had  precipitated  her  flight  over 
this  route,  and  had  only  obtained  such  a  start,  from  putting  her 
little  nag  to  its  utmost  speed  at  the  beginning.  In  this  event,  he  was 
sure  to  overtake  her. 

To  be  beaten  by  such  a  mere  circumstance  of  a  "  gal-child,"  as  he 
himself  phrased  it,  was  a  circumstance  of  mortification  which 
prompted  him  to  a  more  determined  effort.  And  so  he  rode  for  a 
mile  or  more,  when,  sweeping  suddenly  round  a  curve  in  the  road, 
he  discovered  a  party  of  thirty  mounted  men,  or  more,  not  a  hun 
dred  yards  in  front  of  him.  Their  equipment  made  them  out  to  be 
loyalist  rangers,  and  a  second  glance  assured  our  scout  that  it  was 
Inglehardt  himself  that  he  beheld  at  the  head  of  them. 

In  a  moment  he  wheeled  into  the  woods.  But  not  before  he  had 
been  seen  and  distinguished.  "It  is  Ballon,  Sinclair's  scout,"  cried 
Inglehardt;  "after  him,  half  a  dozen  of  you,  and  pursue  him  even 
to  the  Edisto.  Do  not  rest  till  you  bring  him  down.  Five  guineas 
to  the  man  who  brings  me  his  ears." 

So  liberal  a  reward  would  have  set  our  loyalist's  whole  troop  in 
motion;  but  he  suffered  only  five  of  his  best-mounted  troopers  to  take 
the  chase.  But  Ballon  was  luckily  well-mounted,  on  a  stout  horse  of 
equal  speed  and  bottom,  and,  as  he  felt  his  danger,  and  knew  what 
he  had  to  expect,  should  he  fall  into  such  hands,  he  at  once  sternly 
braced  himself  up  to  the  exercise  of  all  his  resources.  Leaving  pur 
suer  and  pursued  for  awhile,  let  us  briefly  report  that  Nelly  Floyd, 
no  inferior  woodsman,  by  this  time,  had,  harelike,  doubled  upon  her 
tracks,  and  before  night  was  once  more  prowling  about  the  tents  of 
the  wicked;  in  other  words,  lurking  about  the  camp  of  Inglehardt,. 
in  the  hope  once  more  to  confer  with  her  witless  brother. 


3HCE   MORE   AT   MUDDICOAT   CASTuB 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

ONCE    MORE    AT    MUDDICOAT    CASTLE. 

INGLEHARDT  was  disquieted  by  this  adventure.  Had  Ballou, 
that  inveterate  and  skilful  scout,  found  out  the  secret  avenue 
to  the  recesses  of  Muddicoat  Castle  ?  It  was  a  question  to 
alarm  the  loyalist  for  the  safety  of  his  prisoners,  for  Ballon  was 
but  the  avant  courier  of  Willie  Sinclair's  dragoons.  It  now 
became  necessary  to  push  Captain  Travis  to  the  uttermost,  by 
goading  the  fears  of  the  father  to  the  sacrifice  of  the  daughter 
for  the  sou.  Inglehardt  found  Dick  of  Tophet  at  camp,  and  all 
things  apparently  in  good  order.  With  their  usual  precaution, 
leaving  the  camp  in  charge  of  the  first  lieutenant,  Lundiford,  he 
and  Andrews  made  their  way  to  the  recesses  of  the  swamp,  and 
an  interview  soon  followed  between  our  two  captains,  the  captor 
and  captive.  The  first  words  of  Inglehardt  brought  their  issues 
\o  a  point. 

"  Well,  Captain  Travis,  have  you  grown  more  reasonable? 
Will  you  write  to  your  daughter  ]  Will  you  command  her  to 
fulfil  your  pledges  1  Will  you  tell  her  that  your  own,  and  your 
son's  safety  depend  upon  it?" 

To  this  the  answer  was  indirect. 

"  Where  is  my  son  1     Why  am  I  not  suffet  jd  to  see  him  > ' 

"  It  is  hardly  my  policy  to  grant  your  wishes,  Captain  Travie, 
since  yo:i  yield  to  none  of  mine.  But  you  shall  see  your  son. 
1  trust  the  interview  will  be  more  influential  to  persuade  you  to 
your  duty,  than  my  arguments  and  entreaties  have  been." 

"  Your  arguments  !  Your  entreaties  !  They  are  stings  and 
poisons  !  But  let  me  see  my  son." 

Inglehardt  motioned   to   Dick  of  Tophet,  who 


EOTAW. 


promptly,  and  proceeded  to  the  prison  of  Henry  Travis.     L. 
whispered  the  boy  as  he  led  him  forth : — 

"  Don't  be  scary !  It'll  all  come  right  in  the  eend.  Only 
look  as  down-hearted  as  you  kin  !" 

And  the  boy  was  brought  into  the  preser.ee  of  the  father, 
As  the  old  man  beheld  him  —  his  wan  cheeks,  his  drooping  eyes, 
and  utterly  wo-begone  aspect  —  thin,  emaciated  even — filled 
him  with  horror !  He  burst  into  a  torrent  of  bitter  tears,  while 
the  boy  threw  his  arms  about  his  neck. 

By  this  time,  Travis  well  conceived  the  game  that  Inglehardt 
was  playing.  He  well  conceived  that  the  latter  had  no  purpose 
to  destroy  the  boy,  and  that  he  was  only  seeking  so  to  distress 
and  torture  both  parties,  as  to  compel  the  acquiescence  of  the 
father  to  his  demands. 

But  the  natural  fear  of  Travis  was,  that  the  boy  would  suc 
cumb  under  the  severe  privations  to  which  he  was  subjected ; 
and,  certainly,  the  appearance  of  Henry  was  such  as  to  justify 
this  apprehension.  When  the  father  remembered  the  noble  and 
fearless  spirit  of  the  youth ;  his  well-developed  form ;  his  eagle 
eye,  always  bright  with  impulse  and  ardent  emotion; — and 
contrasted  the  grateful  picture  of  the  past,  with  the  lean,  cadav 
erous,  wretched  aspect  of  tthe  boy  now,  he  again  burst  into  a 
passion  of  grief,  which  poured  itself  forth  in  a  torrent  of  re 
proaches  to  the  jailer,  and  of  almost  childlike  sobbing  sympa 
thies  to  the  son.  He  renewed  his  prayer  to  his  tyrant;  re 
peated  his  denunciations,  and  was  only  answered  with  derision. 

"  I  have  not  resolved  idly,  Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt, 
throwing  off  all  masks,  "  your  son  is  in  my  power  as  well  as 
yourself.  I  have  shown  you  the  only  conditions  upon  which  you 
can  procure  your  own  or  his  safety.  I  will  not  answer  for  the 
consequences  of  your  obstinacy.  There  is  the  paper.  Sign  it ; 
and,  when  it  realizes,  for  me,  the  objects  upon  which  I  insist, 
you  are  tree  —  he  is  free  !  I  demand  of  you  nothing  unreason 
able.  1  require  compliance  only  with  your  own  deliberate  en 
gagements.  You  pledged  me  the  hand  of  your  daughter.  1 
demand  that  you  keep  your  pledges.  His  fate  and  yours,  both, 
depend  on  your  doing  so  !" 

"Better  die'  my  father!"  murmured  Honry  Travis,  in  the 
eld  man's  ears. 


ONCE    MOKE    AT    MUDD1COAT    CASTLE.  897 

"  Ay,  better  die  !  "  exclaimed  the  father,  "than  doom  another  child 
to  worse  than  death  ! " 

"Be  it  death,  then!  Since  you  so  resolve,"  said  Inglehardt 
slowly,  sternly,  coldly,  "death  on  the  gallows  to  the  one — 
and — : 

Here  he  paused,  and  motioned  with  his  hand.  At  this  signal, 
Dick  of  Tophet  took  the  youth  away,  while  the  father  buried 
his  face  in  the  straw  of  his  couch,  and  sobbed  pitifully,  like  an  infant, 
in  his  passion. 

"  Hear  me,"  said  Inglehardt,  when  the  father  and  himself  were 
alone  together.  ' '  Hear  me,  Captain  Travis,  in  order  that  you  may 
open  your  eyes  to  a  deeper  necessity  in  these  our  relations,  than  is  yet 
apparent  to  your  senses.  I  see  what  is  your  hope,  and  what  are 
your  calculations.  You  rightly  conceive  my  purpose,  to  compel 
your  own  and  daughter's  consent  to  my  wishes,  through  your 
fears  for  the  safety  of  iyour  son.  You  see  to  what  extent  I 
have  already  carried  out  my  purpose.  You  see  the  condition 
of  the  boy.  But  yon  fancy  that  I  wrill  not  press  this  purpose  to 
extremes.  You  do  not  yet  conceive  of  what  I  am  capable  when 
baffled  !  You  will  find  that  I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  be  baf 
fled  !  that,  though  you  may  deny  the  gratification  of  one  of 
my  passions,  there  are  others  which  can  feed  fat  on  your  suffer 
ings  !  Can  you  not  conceive  of  a  passion  fiercer  than  love,  which 
shall  take  its  place  in  my  bosom,  and  even  sacrifice  the  most  prec 
ious  of  its  objects  rather  than  go  without  gratification !  I  can 
revenge  myself  for  any  disappointments  !  I  can  destroy  this 
boy  by  the  most  terrible  tortures,  beneath  your  eyes,  and  re 
serve  you,  at  last,  for  the  degradation  of  the  gallows  !  All  this 
I  can  do,  and  will  do,  whenever  I  shall  tire  of  this  tedious 
practice  upon  your  obstinacy.  Obduracy  shall  contend  with  ob 
stinacy;  and,  though  you  may  save  your  daughter  from  my  arms, 
yet  shall  ys-u  neither  save  your  son  from  torture,  nor  yourself  from  an 
ignominious  death  ! " 

And  all  this  was  said  in  subdued  and  even  gentle  tones,  without 
any  show  of  passion. 

' '  Fiend  !  devil !  cold-blooded  torturer  from  hell  !  why  have  you 
not  come  with  hoofs,  and  horns,  and  tail,  that  the  world  may  know 
you  what  you  are  ?  " 

"Softly,    and   a   word  more.      Your   daughter,    too,    shall  not 


EUTAW. 

escape  me.  Already,  the  arms  of  his,  majesty  have  passed  up 
to  Murray's  ferry,  east  of  the  Santee,  and  I  know  now  the 
place  of  your  daughter's  refuge.  Ha !  do  you  feel  me  now  ? 
She  is  with  her  mother,  at  your  sister's,  at  Mrs.  Baynard's. 
She  shall  be  torn  thence.  And  you  may  well  pray  that  I  shall 
succeed  in  this  object ;  since,  then  I  shall  have  no  further  motive 
for  keeping  you  and  your  son  in  bonds.  Meditate  on  this.  You 
may  anticipate  what  must  happen,  and  save  the  boy  from  what 
he  must  still  endure,  until  my  triumph  is  made  certain." 

Something  of  this,  as  we  know,  was  Inglehardt's  mere  inven 
tion,  the  fruit  of  his  conjecture  only.  He  did  not  wait  for  any 
answer  to  this  speech,  but  left  the  prisoner  to  brood  upon  it — 
left  the  dungeon,  and  was  no  more  seen  by  Travis  that  night. 

"  He  lies !"  said  Travis,  hoarsely,  to  himself,  but  with  a  shud 
dering  doubt  even  while  he  spoke.  "  The  British  dare  not  ven 
ture  up  the  Santee  on  the  east.  No,  no !  He  but  lieo  to  terri 
fy  me.  Yet,  oh,  my  daughter  !  oh,  my  son  !  what  tortures  must 
ye  both  bear  for  the  errors  of  your  father!  —  and  in  the  hands 
of  this  hellish  monster  !  Oh,  God  of  heaven  !  hast  thou  no  s-ud- 
den  bolt,  to  speed  in  thy  mercy,  striking  down  this  wretch  ?  ay 
send  it- — speed  it — -though  the  same  fiery  shaft  shall  make  nib 
its  victim  also !" 

We  leave  him  to  all  the  horrors  of  his  thoughts  —  supported 
only  by  the  virtuous  resolution  to  brave  all  danger,  for  himself 
and  for  his  son,  rather  than  sacrifice  his  daughter  to  the  passions 
of  one  so  terribly  fiendish. 

Inglehardt  did  not  leave  the  swamp  without  duly  considering 
the  dangers  which  seemed  to  threaten  its  securities  from  the 
presence,  in  the  neighborhood,  of  such  a  scout  as  Ballou.  He 
conferred  on  the  subject  with  Dick  of  Tophet,  and  concluded  to 
leave  him  with  a  small  command  of  ten  men,  to  range  about  the 
precincts.  In  the  event  of  any  attempt  to  force  the  retreat, 
these  ten  men  could  maintain  it  against  thrice  or  even  four 
times  their  number.  The  place  was  one  which  might  be  easily 
made  defensible.  To  Brunson  he  renewed  his  private  instruc 
tions  with  regard  to  the  prisoners.  We  may  readily  conceive 
their  purport.  With  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  lie  tookfehis  de- 
jjarture,  leaving  Dick  of  Tophet  in  camp  with  his  ten  men. 

The  privilege  of  scouting  was  one  of  those  which  Dick  of 


ONCE  MORE   AT   MUDDTCOAT   CASTLE. 

Topliet  valued  above  all  others.     It  was  one  calculated  , 
to  increase  his  "  chainces,"  to  use  his  own  choice  phrase*. 
WP  may  have  an  opportunity,  shortly,  to  see  him  busy  at  t, 
nxercise.     Among  his  ten  men  were  some  new  recruits,  inci 
ding  the  scapegrace,  Mat  Floyd.     That  night,  watching  Tie* 
chance,  Nelly  again  obtained  an   interview  with  her  brother, 
coming  upon  him  while  he  was  on  his  post  of  watch.     Dick  of 
Tophet,  meanwhile,  had  again  made  his  way  into  the  fastnesses 
of  Muddicoat. 

"  What  does  you  come  for,  Nelly  V  demanded  Mat  Floyd  of 
his  sister.  "  You  knows  I  kaint  and  won't  listen  to  you.  It's 
no  use,  I  tell  you.  You  needn't  talk  to  me  any  more  of  that 
hanging  business,  sence,  you  see,  I'm  in  no  danger  now.  I'm 
rigilarly  'listed  into  the  king's  army,  and  ef  so  bo  I'm  taken 
prisoner,  they  kaint  hang  me.  I'm  jest  a  prisoner-of-war,  you 
see." 

"  Oh,  Mat,"  said  the  girl,  very  solemnly,  "  I'm  sure,  your  be 
ing  enlisted  gives  you  no  securities ;  for  still  I  see  the  danger 
that  threatens  you,  of  that  very  death  !     It  has  come  to  me 
more  than  once  dr.^  r.  have  spoken  with  you ;  and  it  grows 
clearer  an!  clearer  .0  my  sight  every  time.     I  have  seen  them 
Baling  you  to  the  gallows — I  have  seen  you  striving  to  break 
way  —  have  heard  your  very  cries,  I  tell  you ;  and  I  feel  more 
nan  ever  certain  that  such  v/iil  be  your  doom,  unless  you  escape 
^rom  your  present  eomections.     You  are  under  a  very  bad  man, 
'Jiis  Joel  Andrews.'' 

'*  Pa  you  know  whr,*.'1.1  his  other  name  ?"  the  youth  asked 
-if  :eny, 

14 1  bs,  I  h^ive  heard  it ;  and  that  alone  should  be  enough  to 
r.uike  you  dread  the  danger  of  which  I  tell  you.  He  will  lead 
fiy?  to  his  own  sins  —  he  will  conduct  you  to  his  own  fate !" 

"  Psho !  the  devil  ain't  quite  so  black  as  people  say  he  is," 
Answered  the  youth,  repeating  unwittingly  a  proverb.  4<  But, 
{'•;  you  say  that  Hp|J-fire  Dick's  to  be  hung  too?  Have  you 
seen  him  a-hanging  in  your  visions  ?" 

"  I  know  net  that.  T  have  not  seen  it.  But  such  deeds  af 
?e  has  done,  may  well  lead  to  such  a  fate." 

'50b.  that's  the  way  you  come  to  dream  of  mo  a-hanging' 
Tor  i.'s  all  a  dream,  ITelly  :  one  of  your  crazy  dreams,  I.  reckon  ' 


400  EUTAW. 

V 

"Oh,  Mat,  Mat !  do  not  speak  to  me  thus  !" 

"Look  you,  Nellie  —  be  off!  You  mustn't  come  to  bother  me 
when  I'm  on  duty.  And  you  mustn't  be  trying  to  skear  me  as 
you  does.  Sometimes,  I'm  a-dreaniiug  about  the  hanging  myself  ; 
and  it's  all  bekaise  of  your  putting  the  nonsense  in  my  *head. 
Well,  when  I  thinks  of  it,  I  knows  thyar's  no  danger  ;  for  you 
see,  as  I  tell'd  you,  I'm  rigilarly  'listed  ;  and  that's  good  reason 
why  I  mustn't  desart :  for  that's  hanging,  you  know  ;  and  ef  I 
minded  you,  I  might  come  to  the  gallows  by  the  very  nighest  cut, 
and  jest  because  I  listen  to  you.  So  be  off,  and  don't  bother 
me  any  more  with  your  craziness." 

"Mat,  I  am  not  crazy!" 

"Well,  you're  foolish!  But  be  off !  I  hear  a  noise.  It's  the 
guard  ! " 

"One  moment,  Mat,  I  have  seen  one  thing  to  notice,  in  the 
terrible  vision  of  your  fate  —  one  thing  that  I  never  noticed  when 
it  came  to  me  before.  You  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  troopers 
in  a  green  uniform  ;  and  it's  an  officer  in  green,  that  I  see  order 
ing  you  to  the  gallows  ! " 

"In  green,  you  say?    But,  be  off  !    I  hear  the  guard  !" 

And  she  sped  silently  away  into  the  deep  thickets  ;  while,  as 
the  relief  came  upon  the  ground,  instead  of  the  proper  challenge, 
Mat  Floyd  cried  out.  "In  green!" 

The  meditations  of  Nelly  Floyd  in  her  woodland  covert,  lonely 
and  desolate  as  was  her  life,  were  of  a  pure  and  refining  sor-" 
row ;  but  they  were  nevertheless  a  sorrow.  Of  their  type  and 
character  we  may  reasonably  conjecture  from  what  we  know 
of  hers.  But  the  subject  which  most  distressed  her  soul  was 
that  of  the  vision  which  presented  itself  so  repeatedly  to  her 
eyes,  or  her  imagination,  and  of  which  the  impression  was  evi 
dently  deepening.  There  is  no  doubt  that  she  fully  believed 
that  she  beheld  this  vision.  It  was  no  choice  invention,  meant 
to  scare  the  offender  from  his  evil  practice.  It  may  have  been 
the  natural  conjuration  of  her  thought,  colored  and  stiengthened 
by  the  vivifying  force  of  the  imagination  ;  for  she  was  a  crea 
ture  of  imagination  all  compact  —  so  sublimed  by  the  influence 
that  she  was  totally  unconscious  of  any  arts.  Her  soul  rayed 
out,  in  its  sweet  and  naked  simplicity,  not  only  unconscious  of 
all  convention  but  superior  entirely  to  its  commands.  Her 


ONCE  MOKE  AT  MUDDICOAT  CASTLE.  401 

mode  of  life  ministered  to  the  imaginative  mood.  She  did  not 
live  much  among  human  beings.  She  lived  apart,  and  found 
her  chief  communion  in  strange  aspects  which  naturally  came 
to  supply  the  lack  of  human  associates.  She  became  spiritu 
alized  in  her  sole  communion  with  the  woods  by  day,  and  with 
the  stars  by  night.  Her  very  fancies  thus  became  positive  ex 
istences  to  her  mind.  When,  in  connection  with  this  fact,  we 
note  her  capacity  to  observe,  howr  perpetually  she  moved  about 
the  forests,  in  pursuit  of  her  brother,  no  matter  what  his  change 
of  place  or  associates,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  wronder  that  she 
should  pick  up  a  great  deal  of  intelligence  of  actual  things  and 
persons.  It  is  just  possible  that  this  knowledge,  thus  acquired, 
was  worked  up  by  her  imagination  as  so  much  raw  material, 
fused  with  her  fancies ;  and  hence  "  her  so-esteemed  visions, 
which,  from  the  nature  of  tilings,  and  according  to  reasonable 
probabilities,  might  very  wrell  be  verified.  Nothing,  for  exam 
ple,  would  be  more  probable  than  that  the  practices  of  her 
brother  should  conduct  him  to  the  gallows.  But  it  was  Nelly's 
owrn  subject  of  wonder,  that  the  event  was  alwrays,  as  it  were 
scenically  painted,  in  detail,  before  her  eyes.  This  painting 
as  wre  have  said,  had  recently  become  deepened  in  color,  and 
strengthened  in  detail.  She  has  been  able  to  say  to  her  broth 
er — "Your  executioners  wear  a  green  uniform."  She  has  even 
counted  their  numbers.  She  has  seen  their  faces.  She  could 
describe  the  very  spot  where  the  tragedy  will  take  place.  But 
one  aspect  seems  to  elude  her — that  of  the  officer  who  commands 
the  party. 

"Why,  oh,  why,"  she  murmured  to  herself — "why  can  not 
I  see  his  face  ?  But  I  shall  see  it  yet.  Every  night  it  grows 
clearer.  Every  time  it  comes,  I  see  something  more.  Green 
uniforms  ! — I  don't  recollect  to  have  seen  any  green  uniforms 
in  cither  of  the  armies ;  but  I  have  never  seen  whole  armies. 
The  Americans  are  blue  mostly,  and  the  British  are  red.  Per 
haps  the  French  w^ear  green  uniforms.  I  never  saw  any  of 
them.  Oh,  it  is  so  bewildering — and  my  poor  brain  how  it 
throbs  ! " 

And  then  she  sank  upon  her  knees  in  prayer,  and  spread  the 
rushes  of  her  couch,  and  laid  herself  meekly  down  without  fear; 
and,  with  crossed  hands,  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  closed  her 


402  EUTAW. 

eyes  in  sleep,  even  while  watching  the  slow  marches  Uong  the 
blue  waste  of  the  sadly-shining  stars. 

While  Nelly  Floyd  was  thus  sleeping,  innocently  and  lonely, 
in  the  forests,  Dick  of  Tophet  had  made  his  way  from  camp  to 
the  recesses  of  Muddicoat  Castle,  Here  he  indulged  in  a  famous 
carouse  with  Rafe  Branson  and  Pate  Blodgit  They  gamed,  and 
drank,  and  supped,  and  Dick  contrived  to  lay  his  boon  com^an 
ions  under  the  table,  without  becoming  seriously  muddled  bin 
self.  This  achievement  donje,  he  quietly  passed  his  fingers  hit' 
Branson's  pocket,  and  possessed  himself  of  the  key  to  younfe 
Travis's  dungeon.  He  did  not  scruple  to  arouse  the  boy,  and. 
lighting  a  fire  of  pine-knots,  he  good-humoredly  said  to  the  pris 
oner  : — 

"  Now,  my  young  sodger,  I  wants  you  to  gut  this  book  for  me, 
and  tell  me,  pretick'lar,  about  that  skrimmage  among  them 
double-jinted  giants.  I  wants  to  see  how  Cappin  Pilgrim  sar- 
cumvented  them  bloody,  big-boned  mimics." 

And  he  pulled  the  book  from  his  bosom,  and  the  boy  read  for 
him  for  a  couple  of  hours,  when  Dick  yawned  fearfully,  and 
Henry  naturally  construed  this  to  signify  that  the  "  gutting" 
had  been  sufficient  for  the  night.  Dick  assented,  when  he  pro 
posed  to  stop,  and  taking  the  book,  restored  it  carefully  to  his 
bosom.  He  then  said  : — 

"  Young  sodger,  I'm  mighty  sorry  to  see  you  in  sich  a  fix, 
and  I  kaint  help  you  out  of  it.  Now,  does  you  see  how  the 
matter  stands  'twixt  your  daddy  and  the  cappin  1  I  reckon 
you  does.  Now,  why  don't  your  daddy  let  the  cappin  hev  your 
sister  ?" 

"  What !  my  sister  marry  such  a  cold-blooded  heartless  mon 
ster,  who  tortures  her  father  and  her  brother,  to  win  her  affec 
tions  1  Never  !  never  !" 

"  Well,  it's  true,  the  cappin  is  a  mighty  cold  and  hard  man, 
and  all  h--l  when  lie  takes  that  way;  but  it's  only  bekaise  he 
kain't  hev  his  own  way.  Ef  he  could  hev  his  own  way,  now,  I 
reckon  he'd  be  jest  as  good  a  husband  as  the  gal  could  git 
Why,  do  you  think,  when  once  he's  mariied,  that  he'll  show 
any  of  his  brimstone  like  he  does  now  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  He'll 
be  as  sweet-tempered  a  husband  as  a  woman  ever  bed,  always 
supposing  that  she's  got  the  sense  to  let  him  he,v  his  own  way, 


ONCE   MORE   AT.  MTTDDICOAT   CASTLE.  403 

Which  it's  only  right  and  nateral  he  should  hev.  Now,  my 
sodger  boy,  I  wants  to  see  you  out  of  this  fix,  and  on  free  legs 
agin.  I  do  !  I  likes  you,  though  I  kain't  say  I  has  much  liking 
for  that  daddy  of  yourn.  He  worked  a  bullet  hole  in  my  tar 
that  kaint  hold  a  ring,  even  ef  'twas  made  out  of  the  gould  it 
self.  But  you  I  likes,  and  ef  you'll  jest  take  my  advice,  you'll 
be  after  argufying  it  with  your  daddy,  and  gitting  him  to  say 
"yis,'to  all  the  cappin  axes.  The  cappin  ain't  a  hard  man  with 
anybody  that  let's  him  hev  his  own  way ;  and  I  reckon  he'll 
make  as  good  a  husband  for  the  gal,  as  she'll  find  'twixt  here 
and  huckleberry  heaven — which  is  a  mighty  long  way  off,  you 
know.  And  I'm  a  thinking  that  arter  all,  thar's  no  sich  great 
difference  'mongst  men  —  so  far  as  the  woman  has  any  right  to 
know.  Ef  a  man's  young  and  wicked,  why  he'll  hev  the  longer 
time  to  git  good  in  ;  and  ef  the  wife's  sinsible  of  her  rights  and 
desarvings,  she  has  only  to  let  her  husband  hev  his  own  wray, 
and  then  she  kin  do  jest  as  she  pleases.  Now,  do  .you  be  think 
ing  it  over,  my  young  sodger,  and  see  what  you  kin  make  of  it. 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  in  this  fix.  It's  a  hitch  for  me.  I'd 
like  to  help  you  out  of  it,  but  kaiut.  But,  somehow,  I'll  try  to 
do  a  leetle  toward  helping  you,  so  that  you  shaint  go  down  by 
the  run,  ef  a  leetle  hog  and  hominy  kin  keep  you  up.  Thar 
now  !  I've  said  jest  as  much  as  I  mean  to  say,  and  we'll  quit. 
Make  your  biscuits  last  as  long  as  you  kin,  and  I'll  try  to  give 
you  another  lift  when  they're  out.  So  go  to  sleep  now." 

Without  waiting  for  any  answer,  Dick  of  Tophet  disap 
peared.  With  the  dawn  of  the  next  day  he  sallied  forth  with 
his  party  from  camp,  and  gave  the  woods  a  thorough  scouring; 
but  Nelly  Floyd  was  on  the  alert,  and  no  more  to  be  caught  by 
Devil  Dick  than  by  scout  Ballou.  That  night,  Dick  coursed  a 
few  miles  below.  The  next  day,  he  again  scoured  the  precinct, 
having  been  properly  warned  of  the  danger  from  Ballou's  prox 
imity.  He  found  nothing.  Three  days  may  have  passed  in 
this  manner,  scouting  by  day,  card-playing  and  drinking  by 
night ;  with  another  reading  of  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  a  chat 
with  Henry  to  whom  he  conveyed  a  few  more  biscuit,  but  with 
the  injunction  to  cat  but  three  a  day. 

His  visits  at  Muddicoat  were  seriously  hurtful  to  the  morals 
of  that  place.  He  won  all  the  money  of  Brunson,  and  did  not 


404  EUTAW. 

disdain  that  of  Pete  Blodgit.  The- allowance  wh-c  .  fngleharck 
made  to  these  parties  was  liberal  enough ;  but  to  those  with 
whom  a  habit  of  "picking  and  stealing"  has  created  an  iuordi 
nate  appetite,  this  compensation  was  utterly  inadequate.  Brun- 
son  giowled,  and,  if  Pete  Blodgit  did  not  growl  oponly  his 
mother  did.  Whatever  his  earnings  she  now  got  none  of  them. 
One  night  she  kept  awake,  waiting  the  return  of  her  hopeful 
son  from  the  drinking  and  gaming  bout  at  Brunson's.  He  came 
in  at  a  late  hour,  somewhat  fuddled,  but  rather  more  furiou. 
than  fuddled.  He  had  lost  every  copper  of  money. 

"You  Pete,"  screamed  out  his  respectable  mammy  —  ''you 
Pete ;  come  hyar  !  I  wants  to  talk  with  you." 

"  Well,  what's  it,  mother  ?" 

"  What  keeps  you  out  so  late,  whenever  Devil  Dick  come? 
hyar  ?" 

The  fellow  was  just  drunk  enough  to  be  audacious 

"Dn'uk  and  gangling,  I  reckon." 

"Drink  and  gambling,  you  varmint!  And  whar  do  you  gi 
the  money  to  gamble  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  gits  credit '" 

"  Has  tne  cappm  paid  you  the  last  'lowance." 

"Not  a  copper  !'' 

"  Oh !  that  I  should  hev  a  son  to  do  nothing  but  lie  to  hi* 
mother !" 

"  And  you  iarfled  me  nothing  better !"  was  the  terrible  replj. 

"  I  larned  you  ?  Oh  !  sarpent !  A'tei  a  while  you'll  be  say 
ing,  and  swaring  too,  that  I  hain't  given  you  a  vartuous  edica- 
tion  and  example." 

"  And  ef  I  did,  'twould  be  the  truth  mother,  though  I  eaH 
it  by  haccident  only." 

"  Oh  !  varmint !  But  the  cappin  has  paid  you,  and  in  govJi 
too.  Devil  Dick  says  so." 

"  Well,  ef  he  says  so,  look  to  him  for  it.  He's  got  it  all  I 
He's  dreaned  me !" 

"  And  ain't  you  a  bloody  fool  to  play  kairds  with  the  aevii, 

"  I  must  be  a-doing  something.  Hyar,  a  man  kin  neither  lie, 
nor  steal,  nor  cheat,  nor  bay,  nor  sell !  It's  a  h — 1  cf  a  place, 
m  oilier,  and  I  don't  kear  how  soon  I  git  shet  of  it !" 

Nor  I!     Them's  the  only  sensible  words  you  ve  ss.il.    Y<?/ 


ONCE   MCWE   AT    MUDDiCGA.'    CASTLE  4C 

loirt   aim   nothing.     You  gits   your    pay  —  and   what's  tJu 
Why,  it  ain't  a  speck,  to  the  airnings  we  had  when  we  VKAS  *' 
Willie  Sinclair's." 

"  Yet  you  wa'n't  easy  when  you  was  thar  !     You  was  si  way 
for  gitting  off  somewhar  else  ;  always  a-growling  r* 

"  Oh  !  sarpent ;  but  that  was  only  bekaise  you  was  t-keep'n^; 
iich  bad  company.  But,  look  you,  ninny"-  she  began  to  v/hoc- 
dle  — "  thar's  a  way  to  be  a-doing  something.  '  We  ain't  a-git- 
ting  anything  much  out  of  this  Cappin  Inglehardt ;  though  the 
pay's  rigilar  enough,  ef  you  wouldn't  waste  it.  Now,  I  hear 
'em  talk,  that  this  Cappin  Travis  is  a  mighty  iich  man.  Kaint 
we  be  doing  something  with  him  1  He'd  pay,  mighty  heavy, 
I  reckon,  to  git  out  of  his  fix  —  he  and  his  son." 

"  Hush  up,  mammy,  who  knows  who's  a-listening  ?  Shet  up 
now.  We'll  talk  about  the  matter  to-morrow.  I  hain't  got  the 
head  now  for  close  calkilation." 

And  there  the  conversation  ended  for  the  present.  The  next 
night,  the  old  woman  intercepted  Dick  of  Tophet,  on  his  way 
to  the  dungeon  of  Henry  Travis.  He  was  entreated  to  her 
bedside,  whither  he  went  reluctantly ;  for  she  was  never  a  fa 
vorite  of  our  Satan,  though,  no  doubt,  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
his  master.  She  knew  this,  and  began  to  wheedle  him. 

"  Oh !  none  of  that,  old  woman !"  said  he.  "  I'm  a  man. 
Talk  out.  Empty  your  bile.  Who  do  you  want  to  roast? 
How  big's  your  swallow.  Say  out  what  you  want  to  say." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  you  was  always  a  cantankerous  pussen. 
But,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you  that  I  reckon  you'll  find  it 
best  to  hear.  I  see  what  the  cappin's  about.  He's  a-starving 
this  boy,  and  his  daddy,  jest,  you  see,  that  he  may  say  they 
died  naterat !  But  it's  a  slow  way.  Now,  the  thing  kin  be 
done  easy  enough  and  a  mighty  deal  quicker.  Hyar  !  do  you 
look  at  that " 

She  showed  some  weedo,  dried. 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Why  now,  do  you  see,  ef  we  but  mixes  *t  pinch  of  them 
yairbs  in  what  they  eats,  or  what  they  drinkr,  they  dies  jest 
L'8  r>aterally  as  if  the  doctors  did  it !" 

Tor  a  moment,  T^ick  regarded  the  old  ha?,  m  silence,  then 
with  a  burst,  he  cried: — 


406  EUTAW. 

'  And  wliat  dees  you  see  in  my  face,  you  old  Satan,  you  old 
Another  of  fifty  devils,  to  make  you  think  I  would  feed  a  prisoner 
MI  pizon !  I've  killed  many  a  man,  but  'twas  always  in  fait 
fight.  I've  killed  a  woman  too,  but  that  was  in  a  fight,  when  I 
cjuldn't  git  off  from  it.  And  that's  the  heaviest  load  on  my 
conscience  a'ter  all !  But  to  pizon  a  prisoner  !  Pizon  a  human  ! 
Pizon  even  an  inimy  !  H — 1 !  you've  1'arned  your  lessons,  old 
woman,  in  sich  a  cchool  as  beats  me  hollow !  Now,  look  you, 
so  sure  as  my  name's  Joel  Andrews  —  or  Hell-fire  Dick  —  which 
y:u  please — jeot  co  sure  as  I  hear  of  this  boy  dying  of  his  eap- 
tivation  hyar,  I'll  hev  you  strung  up  for  pizoning  him !  I'll 
do  it;  ef  all  the  devils  was  agin  it !" 

He  seized  the  dried  plants  from  her  grasp  —  "I've  hafe  a 
luind  to  ram  'em  down  your  infarnal  old  throat !"  He  flung  the 
.Breeds  into  the  fire,  then,  with  the  brief  words : — "  Ricollect 
now !  You  shall  hang  ef  that  boy  dies  in  his  captivation ! 
iVe  sworn  it  by  all  the  devils !  And  I'll  keep  my  oath  !" 

Such  was  his  excitement  that,  instead  of  going  to  the  boy,  as 
Lc  intended, 'he  went  off  to  Brunson. 

''-Look  you,  Rafe,"  said  he,  "  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  that  ole, 
woman  and  her  limping  son.  They're  a'ter  mischief.  That's 
all."  Brunson  could  git  no  further  explanation  from  him. 
"  Look  to  'em  —  a  sharp  eye  —  that's  all !" 

"  Look  to  'em  !"  said  Brunson.  "  Look  you,  Dick,  I'm  mighty 
tired  of  this  sort  of  life !" 

"  I  reckon'd  you'd  be." 

"  But  is  it  never  guine  to  eend  ?  I'd  sooner  cut  and  run,  than 
stand  to  it  much  longer.  Thar's  no  chaince  here  of  getting  a 
leetle  ahead.  I'm  a  longing  to  be  out  on  a  scout,  preticklarly 
when  I  hear  that  Jim  Ballou's  about." 

"  Never  you  rnind  Jim  Ballon.  Hold  it  out,  Ef  the  cappin 
gits  things  as  he  wants  'em,  he'll  fill  your  pockets,  and  mine 
too.  'Nough  said !  Look  to  that  old  hag  and  her  whelp.  Eat 
no  porridge  of  their  cooking,  and  clap  the  hooks  on  em,  the 
moment  they  begin  to  twist  suspicious  in  the  harness." 

"A  pretty  fix  they're  all  in!"  quoth  Dick,  as  he  left  the 
swamp.  "  What  the  devil  made  that  ole  woman  say  '  pizin'  to 
me,  'stead  of  Rafe  Brunson  ?  Does  I  look  more  Hire  a  Phil':- 


ONCE    MOKE    AT   MUDDICOAT'  CASTLE.  407 

tian  savage,   and    a    heathen    Turk    than    him  ?      The    rheumatic 
ole  varmint  ! " 

Certainly  the  dangers  to  Travis  and  his  son  seem  to  grow 
Dick,  changing  his  purposes,  left  the  swamp  that  night.  The 
next  morning  he  took  a  progress  down  the  country,  where  he 
found  Griffith  in  a  new  location,  and  heard  a  variety  of  news 
— matters  relating  to  the  war — the  particulars  of  which  we 
know  already.  There  was  a  sort  of  partnership  existing  be 
tween  Griffith  and  Dick  of  Tophet.  The  former  was  a  kind 
of  pilot  fish  to  the  latter.  He  had  established  himself  in  a  snug 
hiding-place  in  the  swamp,  about  five  miles,  equi-distant,  'from 
Wantoot  and  Pooshee.  Here,  his  propinquity  was  unsuspected, 
except  among  those  whose  policy  it  was  to  keep  it  secret. 
Griffith  entertained  the  scouting  parties  of  the  British,  and 
helped  off  deserters,  whenever  they  wished  to  run.  He  did 
not  encourage  them  in  this  practice;  but  he  freely  exchanged 
his  rum  and  tobacco  for  muskets,  shot  and  powder,  which  always 
found  a  market.  It  is  surprising  how  readily  such  an  establish 
ment  becomes  known  to  those  who  patronize  it.  Advertising 
is  quite  unnecessary;  the  dragoon,  scouting,  ranger,  rifle,  foray 
service,  always  find  out  such  a  place  of  refuge  by  instinct;  and 
Griffith,  though  only  recently  established  in  his  new  domain, 
was  already  in  receipt  of  a  considerable  custom ;  much  to  the 
detriment  of  the  British  posts,  Pooshee,  Wantoot,  and  Monck's 
Corner,  the  commandants  at  which  places,  scarcely  yet  warm  in 
their  seats,  did  not  suspect  the  near  neighborhood  of  an  influ 
ence  so  hostile.  Of  course,  Griffith  and  Dick  of  Tophet  com 
municated  their  several  facts  only  when  closeted  together.  But 
men  pursuing  such  a  life  are  apt  to  be  as  singularly  indiscreet,  at 
times,  as  they  are  habitually  cautious.  As  they  are  apt  to  drink 
and  game,  so  the  most  circumspect  will  blab.  Their  secret 
conference  over,  the  leaders  suffered  their  followers  to  take  a 
share  in  their  revels.  Dick's  pride,  as  a  British  officer,  did  not 
prevent  him  from  winning  the  pay  and  profits  of  his  men. 
Accordingly,  we  find  the  whole  gang  busy  at  midnight  in  a  wild 
carouse,  in  which  songs  and  shouts,  and  terrible  stoups  of  liquor, 
v/er:  employed  to  relieve  "  seven  up"  and  other  gambling  games. 
The  dice,  by  the  way,  sometimes  spelled  the  cards;  and  two  or 
three  ancients,  of  a  school  sinking,  even  then,  into  contempt 


408  EUTAW. 

were  losing  pennies  and  shillings  at  draughts  ami  domino 
Griffith  obeying  the  apostles  after  a  fashion  of  his  own,  was  in 
turn  all  things  to  all  men.  But,  even  as  the  games  went  on, 
and  the  liquor  circulated,  the  two  principals  suffered  themselves 
to  talk  incidentally  over  more  serious  affairs. 

"  Did  you  hear  of  old  Sinclair's  scrape  ? "  said  Griffith  to 
Dick  of  Tophet.  "  He  was  pushing  for  Charleston,  and  got  to 
Coates  just  at  the  time  when  old  Swamp-Fox  was  whisking  his 
brush  into  his  face.  Coates  heeled  it  down  to  Quinby,  and  Fox 
after  him.  Coates  thought  to  steal  a  march  upon  old  Fox,  and 
had  the  start  some  five  hours.  Old  Sinclair  went  along  with 
him.  But,  when  Fox  got  up  with  Coates,  the  brush  got  too 
warm  for  the  Cherokee  baron.  So  he  turned  about  for  home. 
He  had  his  gals  with  him  in  the  carriage — he  himself,  was  lame 
as  a  duck  and  sick  as  a  chicken  with  the  pip.  He  hadn't  got 
up  to  my  old  quarters,  when  half  a  dozen  fellows  popt  out  upon 
him  from  the  bushes,  cut  out  his  horses  from  the  carriage,  and 
made  off  with  'em." 

"And  how  did  the  bloody  old  harrystocrat  git  home  ?  " 

' '  I'm  not  sure  he's  got  home  yit.  There  was  a  nigger  along 
here,  three  days  ago,  of  old  Burdell,  who  said  that  a  carriage 
with  two  ladies  took  up  the  old  codger  and  his  gals,  and  went 
off  to  some  house  nearabouts — the  first  house — and  that  old  Sinclair 
couldn't  lift  a  leg." 

"  The  old  heathen  harrystocrat.  I  hope  he  mayn't  raise  another. 
And  this  was  near  about  your  old  quarters  ?  " 

"  Not  two  miles  off." 

"Hem!  And  so — stop  thar,  boy.  The  kaird's  down,  and  I 
mean  to  kiver  it.  No  lifting.  And  so — "  and  he  looked  sig 
nificantly  at  Griffith. 

"And  so — "  answered  the  other — and  both,  as  by  one  consent, 
dropped  the  subject. 

"You've  hearn  tell  of  Sam  Peter  Adair,  I  reckon?"  said 
Griffith. 

"  Don't  ricollect  that  I  ever  did;" 

".Well,  Sam  went  off  to  the  West  Indies,  and  he's  got  back,  they 
say,  rich  as  a  Jew,  with  a  mortal  death  in  his  liver,  or  lights,  or 
belly  somewhere.  Where  he's  got  the  distemper  I  don't  know; 
hut  he's  got  a  wife;  and  they  do  say  he'll  die  of  it." 


ONCE   MOKE   AT   MUDDICOAT   CASTLE.  409 

"What!  the  wife?" 

"  Well,  perhaps,  or  the  distemper — one.  But  he's  got  back  hyar, 
they  say,  to-day;  and  the  old  fool's  brought  back  a  heap  of  gould  and 
silver.  Why,  they  do  say  he's  got  silver  plate  enough,  cups  and 
bowls,  and  spoons  and  what  not,  to  kiver  a  church,  and  build  a 
chimbly  to  it,  all  out  of  silver.  He's  ^  good  friend  to  the  king,  and 
he  gives  parties  to  the  young  ossifers,  from  Watboo,  and  Wantoot, 
and  Monck's  Corner,  every  now  and  then;  and  its  rare  drinking, 
though  Death — and  may  be  the  devil — is  a  standing  over  the 
shoulder,  and  making  all  sorts  of  mouths  at  the  glass.  You  hevn't 
hearn  of  Sam  Peter  Adair? " 

"  Not  till  now.     And  he's  a  living  hereabouts  you  say?  " 

"  Not  three  miles  from  Pooshee — an  old  house  that  used  to  b'long 
to  one  of  the  Devaux,  and  he's  to  keep  thar  tell  the  wcether  gits 
cold  enough  for  him  to  push  for  Florida,  where  I  reckon  he'll  make 
a  die  of  it." 

"  And  he's  thar,  eh?     And  so — " 

And  Griffith  and  Devil-Dick  both  paused  judicously. 

But  enough  had  been  said,  both  for  their  information  and  that  of 
others.  There  were  greedy  dogs  in  Dick  of  Tophet's  gang — more 
greedy  and  venturous  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  them  to  be.  They 
had  heard,  and  brooded  over  the  information  as  quietly  as  their 
leader.  The  night  was  consumed  in  debauchery.  In  the  morning 
Dick  took  his  departure,  but  not  before  he  had  some  significant 
words  with  Griffith.  Then  he  bade  the  bugle  blow,  and  started 
upward  in  a  trot,  making  his  way,  with  all  his  party,  to  the  old  haunt 
of  Griffith,  but  a  few  miles  from  the  Widow  Avinger,  where  we  once 
before  found  him  at  his  revels.  There  he  quartered  his  party,  with 
strict  orders  not  to  quit,  while  he  went  forth  on  a  little  scouting  ex 
pedition  of  his  own.  18 


EUTAW. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   WRONG   LAP. 

As  this  movement  of  Dick  of  Tophct  brings  him  with  the 
precincts  of  the  Widow  Avinger,  it  may  be  proper  that  we 
should  also  take  the  same  route,  and  inquire  after  our  late  com 
panions.  Several  days  have  elapsed  since  we  left  them  safely 
housed,  in  a  condition  of  greater  comparative  comfort  and  se 
curity  than  they  had  enjoj^ed  while  under  the  escort  of  Coatcs's 
army,  or  in  their  subsequent  wandering  away  from  it.  But, 
our  baron  of  Sinclair  was  by  no  means  in  the  mood  to  enjoy 
this  state  of  ease  and  safety.  It  brought  no  ease  to  him.  The 
excitements  which  he  had  undergone  had  brought  upon  him.  one 
of  the  severest  fits  of  the  gout  which  his  manhood  had  ever  yet 
been  required  to  endure.  His  agonies  for  several  days,  were 
such  as  to  occasion  the  liveliest  apprehensions  in  his  daughter's 
mind,  who  had  never  before  seen  him  so  humbled  by  his  infirm 
ity.  Fortunately,  Mrs.  Travis,  .  otherwise  Smith,  was  a  woman 
of  large  experience,  great  good  sense,  and  thoroughly  domestic. 
She  and  her  daughter,  both,  came  to  the  succor  of  Carrie  Sin 
clair,  and  shared  with  her  the  duties  of  watch,  tendance,  and 
nursing.  Night  and  day  they  were  indefatigable — solicitous 
of  every  movement — every  complaint — of  the  querulous  baron  ; 
anticipating  every  want,  and  sympathizing  with  every  pang. 
Hough  and  stern,  haughty  and  proud,  as  he  was,  Colonel  Sin 
clair  was  a  true  gentleman :  and,  even  in  his  sufferings,  when 
his  agonies  were  worst,  and  compelled  his  wildest  ravings,  his 
eye,  and  occasionally,  his  tongue,  made  ample  and  grateful 
acknowledgments  for  all  the  kindness  and  attention  he  received. 
His  suffering  had  reached  that  degree  which  humbled  pride, 


THE     WRONG     LAP.  411 

and,   in  his  impatience,   he  was  as  pliant  and  submissive  as  the 
child  that  dreads  the  birch. 

You  will  please  suppose  that,  for  five  days,  the  watch  and 
nursing  of  all  these  parties,  together  and  severally,  have  been 
continued,  day  and  night,  and  until  the  acuter  pangs  of  the  suf 
ferer  have  und<*rgone  mitigation.  When  somewhat  relieved, 
the  old  man  was  exhausted,  and  lay  in  a  partial  drowse  half  the 
time.  Then  the  care  was  to  nourish  and  revive  the  strength, 
and  restore  the  vital  energy,  which  had  been  consumed  in  the 
struggle  ;  and,  in  this  respect,  the  skill  and  experience  of  Mrs. 
Travis,  and  the  tenderness  of  the  girls,  proved  quite  as  impor 
tant  as  the  ministry  whicli  they  had  exercised  in  his  more  ex 
acting  trials.  We  will  not  endeavor  to  detail  the  nice  little 
dishes  which  they  contrived  to  tempt  the  appetite  ;  nor  the  vari 
ous  social  arts  with  which  they  sought  to  divert  the  mind  of  the 
sufferer.  We  do  not  know  that  we  have  anywere  spoken  of 
the  musical  talents  of  Bertha  Travis,  which,  without  being 
greatly  cultivated,  were  yet  considerable.  She  had,  like  Car 
rie  Sinclair,  a  natural  gift  in  this  province  ;  singing  like  a  wild 
bird  —  native  wocdnotcs  only  —  but  these  were,  perhaps,  best 
calculated  to  satisfy  an  ear  like  that  of  our  baron,  who  was  ear 
nest,  passionate,  unaffected,  and  knew  none  of  the  subtleties  of 
European  art  —  had  never  refined  away,  in  the  acquisition  of 
its  complicated  graces,  any  of  the  natural  vigor  of  his  tastes. 
The  two  girls,  without  any  instrument,  sung  together ;  and  it 
was  something  of  a  surprise  to  Carrie  Sinclair,  to  find  that  Bertha 
.Travis,  otherwise  Smith,  knew  precisely  the  songs  in  which 
she  herself  most  delighted.  It  was  a  pleasant  coincidence, 
which  first  moved  surprise,  then  awoke  delight ;  and,  while  the 
old  man  drowsed  upon  the  rude  settee,  where,  supported  by 
cushions,  he  lay  most  of  the  day,  they  carolled  together  like  a 
a  pair  of  well-contented  mocking-birds,  who  dwell  together  in 
amity  in  the  boughs  of  the  same  sheltering  orange.  But  the 
hearts  of  both  of  them  were  sad,  even  while  they  sang.  Bertha, 
from  the  apprehensions  and  griefs  which  haunted  every 
thought,  and  of  which  she  dared  not  speak ;  and  Carrie,  from 
natural  misgivings  in  respect  to  her  father's  condition.  Little 
Lottie,  meanwhile,  picked  up  the  songs  of  both,  and  they  found 
it  an  additional  mode  of  diversion  from  their  cares,  in  tutoring 


L'2  EUTAW. 

jier  little  pipes,  according  to  their  degree  of  knoM^dge  in  tin 
exquisite  art,  in  which  even  sorrow  finds  it  so  natural  to  hi 
duJge. 

And  thus  the  days  passed :  full  of  anxiety  no  doubt,  and  su.v 
iVring;  but  anxiety  not  without  hope,  and  suffering  not  wholly 
without  compensation.  There  had  been  a  sufficient  progress  in 
religion,  among  all  the  group,  to  enable  them  to  rise  to  the 
grand  law  and  lesson  which  teach  resignation  ;  and  subdued^ 
humbled,  sorrowing  and  apprehensive,  there  was  no  slavish 
despondency  of  mood  in  any  of  the  fond,  feeble  hearts,  whoir. 
we  have  been  compelled  to  bring  together  in  our  poor  widow** 
house  of  refuge.  Her  story  was  a  sadder  one  than  any  of  theirs, 
and  her  deportment  conveyed  a  sweet,  Christian  lesson,  of  be 
coming  fortitude,  to  the  worst  sufferer  in  the  circle. 

And,  all  things  considered,  our  aristocratic  baron  behaved 
with  rare  courage  and  manfulness,  under  the  extreme  physical 
tortures  which  he  was  compelled  to  endure.  It  seemed,  indeed, 
that  his  temper  grew  better  in  the  extremity  of  his  afflictions. 
In  proportion  as  the  pains  became  intense,  he  rose  in  soul,  de 
fiant  under  their  pressure.  He  believed  himself  to  be  dying, 
regarded  this  as  the  final  attack  which  should  carry  him  off; 
and,  with  this  conviction,  his  soul  fully  asserted  itself,  as  it 
would  have  done  in  the  field  of  battle.  Like  most  persons, 
small  afflictions  made  him  querulous  and  peevish  only ;  but  the 
belief  that  death  was  at  length  confrorting  him,  made  him  put 
on  all  the  soldier.  Then  it  was  that  he  riot  only  became  pat:^™t, 
;alm,  and  fearless,  but  he  put  on  the  sweetness,  grace,  o  >ncili« 
tion,  and  courtesy  of  the  gentleman.  He  suddenly  stopped  ceo 
£>laint. 

"This  is  death,  Carrie!"  he  said,  after  one  of  his  teriible 
twinges  —  "death,  my  child!  But  I  arn  a,  man,  Read  to  me 
—  sing  to  me  Whatever  you  please.  I  must  not  wince  nt  w, 
I  am  a  sinner,  I  know!  But  I  am  not  wilfully  so  —  only  t;v 
weak  to  be  good.  I  must  get  strength  from  on  High !  Real' 
child,  or  sing.  I  care  not  which." 

And  she  read  the  Bible  for  awhile.     He  stopped  hei. 

"  I  know  all  that  —  by  heart.  Now  sing!  Something  mar 
<nl  !  Ah!"  —  A  pang.  —  "My  affairs  are  all  settled!  Toi 
will  ha^e  no  trouble  ;  and  —  lest  in  my  pain  I  skould  Itereaft? 


THE   WKONG    LAP.  413 

forget  it — say  to  Willie  that  I  forgive  him.  Let  him  marry 
whom  he  pleases,  fight  whom  he  pleases  —  marry  and  fight 
according  to  his  own  conscience  !  He  is  a  brave,  good,  fellow ; 
he  will  never  do  a  mean  action,  anyhow  !  —  of  that  I  am  sure. 
And  you,  too,  my  child ;  marry  whom  you  please !  And  God 
help  you  to  a  noble  gentleman,  a  husband  whom  you  will  never 
cease  to  honor  !  To  see  you  all  happy  is  all  my  care.  I  have 
not  been  very  selfish,  Carrie,  my  child  —  never  so  selfish  as  not 
to  think  first  of  my  children.  If  I  have  not  lived  wholly  for 
them,  I  could  have  died  for  them  at  any  time.  I  have  been 
rough,  you  say.  Well,  well —  '  interrupting  her  —  "you  don't 
say  it.  And  you  are  right.  Mere  manners,  though  very  good 
things  in  their  way  —  essential  things  in  society  —  say  very 
little  for  the-  heart.  Mine  have  been  always  those  of  a  soldier. 
It  is  the  effect  of  soldier-training,  and  a  frontier  life.  But  they 
never  declared  for  my  affections -*- at  all  events  they  never 
marred  them.  I  will  tell  you  now,  for  the  first  time  of  one  of 
my  good  deeds,  that  answer  for  my  heart,  when  my  manners 
would  report  against  it.  I  rescued  an  Indian  babe  from  the 
burning  of  the  Cherokee  towns  in  the  expedition  of  Grant  and 
Middleton,  carried  it  forty  miles  on  the  saddle  before  me,  and 
finally,  after  great  painstakings  and  privation,  restored  it  to  its 
mother.  That  was  the  sweetest  moment  of  my  life.  It  comes 
back  to  me  now  as  a  great  satisfaction .  I  have  been  trying  to 
look  up  my  good  deeds,  in  the  last  three  days,  to  see  what  off 
sets  I  had  to  the  bad  ones.  These  told  for  themselves,  and  kept 
me  always  in  remembrance.  It  was  some  effort  to  recall  the 
good.  That  looks  squally,  Carrie,  my  child,  as  the  day  of  set 
tlement  approaches.  But  Heaven  help  us  !  If  God  be  not  the 
merciful  creditor  that  I  hold  him  !  I  have  that  faith  in  his  mer 
cies,  child,  that  helps  me  wondrously  in  this  adjustment  of  my 
profit  and  loss  account ! 

And  so,  for  an  hour,  the  old  man  rambled  on ;  —  his  Conscience 
busy  after  a  rude  soldier  fashion,  in  subduing  the  evil  principle 
in  his  bosom,  and  preparing  him  for  his  last  combat.  That  he 
should  apprehend  the  approach  of  death,  naturally  impressed 
Carrie  w^ith  the  conviction  that  such  was  his  danger,  and  never 
did  poor  fond,  loving,  dutiful  heart  strive  more  earnestly  than 
hers,  to  keep  down  her  anguish,  and  to  maintain  the  appearance 


414:  EUTAW. 

of  calm  in  his  presence.  But  how  it  sunk  —  that  heart  —  sunk, 
sunk,  all  the  while ;  and  when  she  escaped,  for  a  moment,  to 
her  chamber,  it  was  to  get  relief  and  strength,  for  a  longer  trial, 
in  a  gush  of  tears,  and  a  short  spasmodic  prayer  to  Heaven. 
This  momentary  relief  obtained,  she  would  return  to  her  place 
of  meek  watch,  attendance,  attention,  and  those  homely  minis 
tries,  which  at  such  a  moment,  bring  out  all  the  nobler  virtues 
of  woman,  in  the  exercise  of  her  peculiar  mission.  He  would 
resume,  as  soon  as  she  reappeared,  perhaps  in  another  phase  of 
the  same  prevailing  mood. 

"I  have  been  harsh  to  Willie!  How  harsh,  I  only  begun  to 
feel  when  I  had  lifted  weapon  against  his  life.  What  a  mad 
ness  was  that !  And  why  should  I  have  been  harsh  to  him  ? 
He  had  always  been  dutiful.  Never  was  more  faithful  son. 
True,,  he  had  joined  the  rebel  cause  !  But  the  world  changes. 
Laws  change.  Nations  change.  There  must  be  change  among 
men  and  nations,  for  they  are  mortal.  There  have  been  revo 
lutions  enough  in  Britain,  and  who  was  right  ?  The-  present 
house  was  not  that  which  ruled  my  fathers.  Was  I  not  a  rebel, 
too,  when  I  gave  my  allegiance  to  the  Guelph,  the  house  of 
Stuart  having  still  a  living  representative  ?  Yet  I  feel  justified. 
Why  ?  What  is  the  argument  ?  Not  worth  a  straw !  And 
how  should  he  care  for  either?  This  is  a  new  world,  and  why 
should  it  not  have  its  own  dynasties  ?  Why  not  a  new  race 
in  authority  here — as  proper  as  any  in  Britain?  This  man, 
Washington,  is  certainly  a  marvellous  man.  What  if  he 
shoultl  found  a  house,  and  become  the  sovereign  ?  Verily,  if 
this  should  be,  the  hand  of  man  in  the  work  would  be  as  noth 
ing,  compared  with  that  of  God .  So  be  it !  Let  Willie  choose 
his  own  master.  I  forgive  him  the  rebellion.  He  is  faithless 
to  no  duty,  which,  as  a  son,  he  ow^es  to  me  !  And  what  was  his 
other  offence  ?  He  would  choose  a  wife  to  suit  himself,  not  me  ! 
Ah  !  Carri^,  what  had  I  to  do  with  that  ?  Could  I  doubt  that, 
good,  brave,  noble  fellow,  as  he  is,  with  cultivated  mind,  and 
generous  heart,  and  nice  sensibilities,  he  would  choose  wisely 
and  well  ?  It  was  that  devil  of  pride  which  I  have  too  much 
'nurtured,  which  roused  me  up,  in  that  matter,  to  such  fierce  hos 
tility.  What  have  I  to  do  with  pride  —  sinner  that  I  am  — 
feeble  that  I  am  —  poor  prostrate  devil  myself  —  looking  with 


THE  WRONG  LAP.  415 

fear  to  that  God  whom  I  have  so  often  offended!  Ah!  my 
child,  how  the  eyes  clear,  and  the  thought,  as  the  soul  is  about  to 
break  away  from  this  miserable  tenement  of  clay.  Let  the  boy 
marry  whom  he  pleases!  I  should  not  quarrel  with  him,  now, 
were  he  even  to  declare  for  this  gentle  little  creature,  with  the 
plebeian  name  of  Smith.  She  is  a  good  girl,  as  good  a  nurse, 
almost,  as  you,  Carrie  ;  and  as  watchful  and  devoted  to  me  as 
if  she  were  my  own  child.  I  have  observed  her,  when  she 
thought  I  slept ;  and  her  face  is  very  noble  and  beautiful.  How 
the  devil,  child,  did  such  a  creature  become  the  proprietor  of 
such  a  name?  What  Smiths  are  they?  Do  you  know?" 

The  answer  was  negative. 

"I  have  known  several  Smiths  —  never  intimately,  and  only 
among  men.  A  woman  with  the  name  should  change  it  as  soon 
us  possible.  There  was  a  Srm/th  whom  I  knew  on  the  Ashepoo. 
But  that  family  has  died  out.  The  people  of  the  name,  who 
rank  in  Britain,  all  spell  it  with  ay.  Do  these  ladies  do  so?" 

Carrie  could  not  answer. 

"Ah,  Willie!  It  does  not  matter.  If  Willie  would  marry 
that  girl,  though  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  like  the  name,  I 
should  not  quarrel  with  him.'  Poor  Willie!  How  I  long  to  see 
him.  Oh,  Carrie!  if  I  should  never  see  him  more!  My  sou! 
my  son!  Why  do  you  not  come  to  me,  my  son!" 

And  with  this  passionate  burst,  the  old  man  fairly  sobbed. 
And  poor  Carrie  sobbed  with  him  ;  and  their  tears  mingled,  she 
on  her  knees  beside  him,  striving  hard,  at  the  risk  of  choking, 
to  keep  down  her  agonizing  emotions. 

Of  course,  such  scenes  were  sacred  to  themselves.  There  was 
no  obtrusiveness  in  the  solicitous  attention  of  Mrs.  Travis  and 
her  daughter.  It  was  only  when  Carrie  seemed  to  need  assist 
ance  that  they  were  present  at  the  communion  of  the  father 
with  his  children.  In  Iris  hours  of  extreme  suffering,  such  as 
that  we  have  shown,  they  felt,  by  natural  instincts,  that  their 
place  was  eise\vhere. 

But  this,  and  other  paroxysms  passed,  and  gradually  dimin 
ished  in  their  frequency  and  intensity.  The  immediate  danger 
disappeared  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  it  only  remained  to 
soothe  the  harassed  mind,  to  « invigorate  the  exhausted  frame, 
and  to  minister,  with  loving  arts,  to  the  fancy  and  the  tastes. 


416  EUTAW. 

And  so,  as  we  have  said,  the  young  damsels  sang  together 
while,  stretched  upon  the  sofa,  or  propped  by  cushions  in  its 
corner,  the  feeble  old  man  listened  ;to  his  favorite  melodies,  and 
rewarded  the  minstrels  by  the  increasing  interest  which  he  be 
trayed  in  their  exercises.  His  appetite,  meanwhile,  came  back 
to  him,  aud — though  more  slowly — his  strength;  and,  very  soon, 
an  increase  of  irascibility  declared  for  his  general  improvement 
of  physique,  if  not  of  temper. 

It  happened,  in  this  stage  of  his  progress,  that,  one  evening 
toward  dusk,  while  propped  in  his  cushion  upon  the  sofa,  he 
seemed  to  drowse,  Carrie  Sinclair  had  occasion  to  leave  the 
room.  She  motioned  to  Bertha  to  take  the  seat  quietly  beside 
him,  and  to  maintain  her  watch  during  her  absence.  Bertha  did 
so.  She  had  not  long  been  seated,  when  the  veteran  somewhat 
suddenly  subsided  from  his  pillows  toward  her.  She  thought 
him  about  to  fall  from  the  sofa  and  extended  her  arms  to  arrest 
his  descent;  but  it  seemed  that  he  was  not  unconscious,  nor 
without  a  purpose,  for,  yielding  to  her  grasp,  his  head  gently 
descended  into  her  lap.  Meanwhile,  he  murmured  low  and 
broKen  sentences.  Whether  he  dreamed,  or  mused  in  a  reverie, 
Bertha  could  not  say.  But  she '  soon  found  that,  sleeping  or 
waking,  he  was  speaking  to  her  as  if  he  thought  her  Carrie. 
Her  situation  was  a  novel  but  not  an  unpleasing  one.  When 
she  thought  of  the  relation  in  which  she  stood  to  his  son,  and 
of  his  hostility  to  that  relation,  she  felt  it  rather  an  awkward 
situation;  but,  though  piqued  at  his  rejection  of  her  claims, 
Bertha  could  not  feel  any  resentment  for  the  father  of  her  lover. 
Besides,  his  prostration  disarmed  every  sentiment  of  anger; 
while  his  age,  dignity  of  character,  and  real  nobility  of  soul 
impressed  her  veneration;  and  she  sustained  the  head,  thinly 
clad  in  hair  -of  silvery  whiteness,  with  all  the  tender  sympathies 
of  a  loving  child.  His  eyes  wTere  closed  as  she  watched  him 
and,  supposing  him  to  be  asleep,  though  he  murmured  still  at 
intervals,  her  fingers  played  with  and  parted  gently,  his  long, 
white  locks.  After  awhile  his  tones  were  raised,  and  his  voice 
became  audible. 

"I  feel,  Carrie,  that  I  could  die  easily,  and  now,  if  Willie 
were  present.  My  boy,  my  boy!.  I  will  never  cross  "him  more. 
Let  him  marry  the  girl  if  he  pleases.  I  have  no  doubt,  worth 


THE    WRONG    LAP. 


less  as  her  father  is,  that  she  is  worthy.  He  would  never 
her  were  she  not.  He  would  never  so  war  with  niy  prejudices, 
and  his  own  tastes  and  character.  No!  she  must  be  worthy. 
Still,  I  should  like  to  see  and  know  her.  Not  that  I  doubt  him, 
or  her.  But  I  would  wish,  before  I  die,  to  see  the  being  £o 
whom  he  would  confide  his  happiness.  It  would  not  be  hard, 
after  that,  to  die  !  No!  death  is  not  hard!  Pain  has  recon 
ciled  me  to  it  all,  except  the  separation  from  the  hearts  that 
shall  suffer  when  I  am  gonew  and  for  whom  I  can  do  nothing. 
But  who  shall  say  that?  Who  shall  say  that  the  soul,  that 
subllc,  wivuvd,  p<nverlY:i  spin!,  ;-ii;iil  not  IK-  niil,-  in  minislev 
still,  though  insensibly,  to  the  weal  and  happiness  of  those 
whom  it  loves,  and  leaves  on  earth  ?  I  will  not  believe  other 
wise.  That  must  be  a  part  of  its  mission.  I  feel  that  I  shall 
watch  over  my  children ;  over  you,  Carrie,  so  that  you  shall 
encounter  no  serpent  in  your  path,  without  timelier  warning 
than  his  rattle  will  give  you  ; — over  Mm,  Carrie,  in  the  field  of 
battle,  and,  if  possible,  to  make  the  bullet  swerve  aside  from  his 
bosom!  That  I  may  do  this,  my  child,  is  my  faith;  and,  with 
this  faith,  death  seems  to  me  but  a  small  trial  of  the  strength 
and  courage.  I  feel  that  I  shall-  sink  into  sleep  without  a  mur 
mur.  You  must  tell  Willie  all  that  I  have  said,  should  we 
never  meet  again .'  My  son !  my  noble  sou !  why  did  we  ever 
quarrel?" 

And  Bertha  noted  the  big  tear  standing  in  his  eyes.  Her 
own  were  dropping  precious  dews  of  sympathy.  He  contin 
ued  :  — 

"And  you  know  nothing  of  these  ladies — these  Smiths?  I 
confess,  I  can't  endure  the  name.  Shakspere  can  not  per 
suade  me  that  a  rose  would  smell  quite  as  sweet  if  called  a  car 
rot.  But,  spite  of  the  name,  I  love  them.  What  a  dear,  kind, 
good  old  lady  is  the  mother !  If  she  had  been  my  own  sister, 
she  could  not  have  nursed  me  more  tenderly  and  fondly.  And 
that  daughter,  what  a  beautiful,  gentle  creature !  Her  voice 
reminds  me  of  yours,  Carrie,  though  it  is  far  less  powerful;  and 
she  sings  all  your  songs.  Her  education  has  been  good.  What 
a  pity  that  the  name  is  Smith!  But  she  will  change  it.  Such 
a  girl  can  not  go  long  without  finding  a  husband.  I  hope  he 
will  be  worthy  of  her.  She  would  just  suit  Willie;  I  should 

18* 


il8  EUTAW. 

fancy  jus'  fuch  a  woman  for  him.  What  a  pity  that  her  name 
is  Smith,  and  that  he  is  already  committed  elsewhere !  But,  as 
lie  wills.  I  will  oppose  his  wishes  no  more." 

There  was  a  pause.  Of  course,  Bertha  made  no  reply  to  all  tiuH 
— Jiow  could  she  ?  Her  positior  grew  momently  more  awkward 
yet  there  was  no  escape  from  it,  but  in  silence.  And  with  what 
conflicting  emotions  —  gratifi  -ation  predominant  —  did  she  lis 
ten  ?  How  she  longed  to  cl;.sp  the  stern  old  baron  in  her  arms, 
and  declare  herself.  But  she-  darefi  not.  With  what  a  delicious 
maidenly  triumph,  did  she  listen  to  his  concessions !  And  how 
she  did  begin  to  loathe  the  \  algar  name  of  Smith  !  The  vetei 
.in  resumed  —  still  talking,  as  was  his  wont,  to  Carrie  —  at  fits, 
ramblingly,  just  as  the  thought  happened  to  occur  to  him.  Of 
conrse,  all  the  speeches  that  we  have  given  him,  were  spoken 
at  random,  as  it  were,  not  consecutively  as  we 'have  condensed 
and  delivered  them.  They  wandered  off  to  the  war ;  to  the 
plantation  ;  to  the  interests  of  the  king  and  the  country ;  and 
to  those  of  the  negroes  —  Tom,  Sam,  Sambo  —  and  the  rest,  not 
one  of  whom  appeared  to  escape  his  recollection.  It  seemed 
as  if,  though  relieved  from  his  acuter  p-ains,  and  from  the  pres- 
3nt  fear  of  death,  that  he  yet  contemplated  only  the  final  issue, 
and  was  making  due  preparations  for  it. 

In  the  midst  of  Ins  monologue,  Carrie  Sinclair  re-entered  the 
room,  and  started,  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  as  she  be 
hold  the  scene.  Her  exclamation  caused  the  old  man  to  open 
his  eyes.  He  looked  and  saw  his  daughter.  In  whose  lap  had 
iiis  head  been  reposing  all  the  while?  He  changed  the  direc 
tion  of  his  eyes,  and  read  the  disquieted  and  half-bewildered 
features  of  Bertha  Travis. 

"  Good  heavens  !  my  dear  Miss  Smith  —  you— -and  I  thought 
it  Carrie  all  the  while  !" 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  dear  sir,"  answered  Bertha,  trying 
to  look  playful  and  careless,  and  smiling  through  a  little  gush  of 
tears. 

"  Ay,  but  it  does !  Lord  bless  me  !  what  dave  I  been  talking 
about  ?" 

This  reflection  stunned  the  old  man  into  silence ;  and  as  h« 
JraifjH  Mnaself  from  his  usurped  place  in  Ivor  lap,  Bertha,  madtf 
Of  course,  our  bnron  had  a  world  ->f  apologies  f 


THE    WRONG    LAP.  41  & 

make,  and  he  burdened  Carrie  with  a  most  submissive  message.  His 
worst  annoyance  was  in  the  reflection  that  he  had  been  speaking  very 
freely  about  the  Smiths  themselves;  but  what  he  had  said,  he  could 
no  more  have  recalled  than  flown. 

"But  I  could  not  have  said  any  evil  about  them,  Carrie — that  is 
some  consolation — for  I  think  nothing  but  good  of  them,  and  ana 
grateful  for  all  their  kindness. " 


4:20  EUTASV. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    EVIL    EYE. 

THAT  night,  Bertha  Travis  told  her  mother  all  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  scene  with  the  old  baron  ;  and  when  she  had  done,  she 
said  : — 

"Now,  mother,  this  will  never  do.  This  fraud,  however  innocem 
of  evil  purpose,  is  painful  and  oppressive  to  me.  I  can  not  bear  to 
go  under  an  assumed  name  any  longer.  I  must  declare  the  whole 
truth,  at  least  to  Carrie.  She  deserves  this  mark  of  confidence  froiv 
us.  She  merits  nothing  less  than  the  truth  from  me.  I  havt 
no  doubt  of  her  faith.  I  have  every  confidence  in  her  affection. 
Besides,  I  have  Willie's  assurances  that,  with  her,  he  has  a 
right  and  full  understanding.  I  must  tell  her  all.  I  can  see 
that  there  are  difficulties  in  the  way  of  an  explanation  with  her 
father;  for  we  are  to  suppose  that  it  is  nothing  to  him,  whether 
we  have  a  name  at  all.  We  are  merely  travellers,  passing,  and  speak 
ing  kindly  together  as  we  pass,  but,  possibly,  destined  never  to 
meet  again.  But,  with  Carrie,  the  case  is  very  different.  I  must  re 
veal  to  her  all  our  secret." 

The  mother  hesitated  for  awhile;  then  said  : — 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Bertha.  Still,  there  can  be  no  moral  re 
proach  to  us,  my  child,  if  we  conceal  or  disguise  ourselves,  for  our 
own  safety,  in  a  moment  of  emergency,  and  where  the  disguise  and 
concealment  operate  to  hurt  no  other  persons." 

"Ah,  but  that  question  of  hurt !  Who  shall  say  that  there 
will  be  no  hurt  ?  Do  you  not  sec  that  we  were  governed,  in 
the  adoption  of  a  false  name,  solely  to  escape  the  recognition  of  one 
whose  prejudices  against  our  real  name  would  have  utterly  prevenled 
our  intimacy  ?" 


THE    EVIL   EYE.  42 1 

"And  who  would  have  been  the  loser  but  himself?  We  hav.^ 
served  him  —  perhaps  saved  him  —  under  the  name  of  Smith,, 
Would  he  have  rejected  the  service  had  it  been  tendered  under 
that  of  Travis  ?  " 

"Perhaps." 

"Hardly.  He  would  scarcely  have  suffered  his  silly  preju 
dices  to  reach  so  far." 

"At  least,  he  should  have  been  allowed  the  privilege  of  de 
termining  the  matter  for  himself.  But  this  matters  not,  mother. 
It  is  impossible  to  say  what  evil  consequences  may  grow  out  of 
a  falsehood,  however  seemingly  innocent  it  may  appear — how 
ever  really  innocent  the  object." 

"In  this  case,  my  child,  the  consequences  have  been  good. 
We  have  conquered  the  unjust  prejudices  of  this  old  man  —  he 
has  suffered  us  to  serve  and  succor  him.  But  for  our  timely 
assistance,  he  might  have  perished  on  the  roadside ;  for  what 
could  that  young  girl  have  done  ?  And,  serving  him,  as  we 
have  done,  we  have  brought  his  mind,  as  you  yourself  report, 
to  the  overthrow  of  its  own  prejudices." 

"Yes,  we  have  beguiled  him,  under  false  pretences,  of  his 
sympathies.  Under  a  false  name  we  have  won  his  friendship 
—  his  affections.  And  what  will  be  the  revulsion,  when  he 
comes  to  know  the  truth  ?  He  will  straight  conceive  the  de 
sign  to  have  been  deliberately  meant  to  conciliate  him  in  favor 
of  my  marriage  with  his  son !  Oh,  mother,  this  seems  to  me 
the  danger,  with  a  person  of  his  jealous  moods  and  fiery  im 
pulse  1 " 

"My  daughter,  do  as  you  will.  But  I  think  your  fears  are 
all  imaginary,  and  your  scruples  somewhat  too  nice  for  our 
present  circumstances.  We  have  employed  no  arts  but  such  as 
have  been  dictated  by  .humanity.  We  did  not  seek  Colonel 
Sinclair.  We  found,  on  the  public  highway,  an  old  man  in 
dirtress.  We  brought  him  to  a  place  of  shelter.  We  have 
nursed  him  in  his  sickness,  simply  as  Christian  women.  We 
ask  nothing  at  his  hands.  We  studiously  forbear  to  utter  a 
name  in  his  hearing  to  which  he  is  hostile  —  which  it  might 
give  him  pain  to  hear  —  and  to  speak  which,  in  his  ears, 
might  seem  the  assertion  of  a  claim  upon  his  gratitude,  in  a 
peculiar  way,  and  on  a  subject,  in  which  all  his  feelings  are  in 


422  EUTAW. 

conflict  with  ours.  This  is  all  our  offence.  Our  forbearance 
has  been  for  Jiis  sake,  not  our  own  ;  and  I  could  still  wish  that 
he,  at  least,  should  know  nothing  of  us,  except  as  the  Smiths, 
who  were  Samaritans  in  spite  of  a  vulgar  name.  Now,  if  you 
tell  Carrie,  she  will  be  required  to  reveal  u  all  to  him,  the  mo 
ment  that  he  asks  the  question  of  her.  She  can  not  do  other 
wise  ;  for  you  can  not  enjoin  her  secrecy,  at  the  moment  when 
a  conscientious  sense  prompts  you  to  throw  off  concealment  as 
burdensome  and  dishonorable  to  yourself.  You  will  have  to 
tell  her  unreservedly." 

"And  I  mean  to  do  so." 

"Then,  for  the  consequences.  With  such  a  man,  so  proud, 
passionate,  irritable  —  so  little  capable,  just  now,  of  reasoning 
justly — capricious  too;  for,  when  quite  well  and  free  of  these 
sufferings,  his  pride  .will  return— he  will  forget  the  lessons  they 
have  taught  him — will  forget  his  own  meeker  and  better  reso 
lutions  ;  you  may  look  to  have  a  storm,  the  moment  the  discovery 
is  made ! " 

"Better  the  honest  storm  than  the  deceitful  calm.  We  must 
bear  it  as  we  may.  But  we  need  not  bear  it  at  all.  We  have 
done  all  for  him  that  \ve  can.  He  will  soon  be  able  to  resume 
his  journey.  He  already  speaks  of  sending  Sam  up  to  the 
plantation  for  fresh  horses.  In  a  few  days  he  can  be  on  Ms 
way,  and  we  can  set  forth  on  ours,  at  an  earlier  period.  It  is 
time,  indeed,  that  we  should  be  on  the  road,  relieving  this  ex 
cellent  Mrs.  Avinger  of  the  pressure  which  we  have  put  upon 
her.  I  hear  of  no  troops  at  present  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the 
probabilities  now,  are  in  favor  of  our  crossing  the  Santee  in 
safety.  Once  on  the  other  side,  we  are  under  Marion's  pro 
tection." 

The  old  lady  meditated  all  these  suggestions,  weighed  them 
deliberately,  and  yielded. 

"You  are  right  in  all,  my  daughter.  Let  it  be  as  you  say. 
Reveal  yourself  to  Carrie,  and,  doing  right  —  amending  the  error 
we  have  committed,  whether  slight  or  serious,  we  shall,  at  all 
events,  have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  ourselves,  whatever 
the  reproaches  we  may  have  to  endure  from  the  lips,  or  in  the 
thoughts  of  others." 

"Mother,    there  is   something  more.     It    will  be  only    a    half 


THE   EVIL    EYE.  423 

correction  of  the  error,  to  confine  its  revelation  to  Carrie.  I 
could  wish  that  you  would  do  the  rest.  Let  us  quietly  prepare 
to  depart.  We  may  surely  do  so  within  the  next  three  days. 
When  ready,  seize  an  opportunity  of  a  conference  with  Colonel 
Sinclair,  and  tell  Mm  the  truth  also.  You  can  do  this  in  a  way 
to  prevent  him  from  supposing  that  you  regard  the  revelation 
as  necessary  or  any  way  important.  The  disguise  was  put  on, 
because  of  a  temporary  exigency.  That  has  passed.  You  see 
no  reason  for  keeping  up  an  unnecessary  mystery,  particularly 
with  regard  to  one  from  whom  you  have  nothing  to  apprehend. 
You  called  yourself  Smith,  when  upon  the  highway.  Your  true 
name  is  Travis,  and  you  speak  it  as  if  it  were  just  as  insignifi 
cant  in  his  ears  as  that  of  Smith.  This  is  all  that  need  be  said; 
and,  saying  this  to  him,  we  are  relieved  from  every  imputation 
of  management  and  falsehood." 

"Not  so  easily  said;  but,  as  you  feel  the  matter  so  deeply, 
and  as  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  old  man  may,  in  truth,  be 
quite  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  Willie's  choosing  for  himself,  I 
prefer,  indeed,  to  take  this  course.  You  can  give  our  first  con 
fidence  to  Carrie.  I  will  take  care  that  the  colonel  shall  have 
a  full  explanation  before  we  depart." 

It  was  with  lightened  heart,  that  Bertha  said  her  prayers 
that  night,  and  j'ielded  herself  to  slumber.  Was  it  in  reward 
.  for  her  proper  decisions,  that  she  dreamed  of  Willie  Sinclair  — 
of  standing  up  with  him  before  the  altar,  while  the  old  baron 
himself,  with  hands  extended,  pronounced  the  benediction  of  a 
happy  father  upon  the  pair  ? 

The  day  dawned  brightly,  and  passed  away  pleasantly  enough 
in  our  widow's  household;  for,  though  there  was  some  constraint 
in  the  manner  equally  of  Bertha  and  her  mother,  which  the 
keen  and  delicately  appreciative  sense  of  Carrie  Sinclair  did 
not  fail  to  detect,  still,  this  reserve  was  not  so  prononce  as  to 
chill  the  circle,  or  affect  it  in  any  way.  After  dinner  our  baron 
prepared  himself  for  his  siesta — "as  was  his  custom  of  the  af 
ternoon" —  and  the  ladies  retired  to  their  rooms.  In  the  cool  of 
the  eventide,  Bertha  whispered  to  Carrie  to  steal  forth  with  her; 
and  the  two  went  together  under  the  grateful  shadow  of  pines, 
which  all  day,  spite  of  the  sun,  had  been  harboring  cool 


424:  EUTAAV. 

breezes  as  securely  as  ever  did  the  grand  avenues  of  a  Grecian  colon 
nade. 

The  two  girls  we  need  hardly  mention  at  this  late  period — had  be 
come  singularly  communicative  and  affectionate.  In  young  hearts, 
which  have  been  kept  from  the  eager  strifes  of  the  world,  confidence 
is  a  creature  born  at  a  bound — in  a  smile,  a  look,  a  tone — any  brief 
sentence  of  thought,  or  expression  of  feature,  which  seems  to  show 
that  there  is  no  fraud  in  the  soul  that  speaks  or  looks;  or  where  the 
sentiment  or  expression  itself,  compels  instant  sympathy  for  itself.  It 
was  not  hard,  accordingly,  for  Bertha  Travis  to  begin  the  work  of 
confession. 

^  Carrie,"  said  she,  "I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  which  you 
should  have  heard  before,  and  which  it  has  been  rising  in  my  heart  to 
tell  you,  from  the  first  moment  when  we  met." 

"  Is  it  so  serious  a  burden,  my  dear,  that  you  begin  with  such  a 
grave  visage  ?  Now,  do  smooth  your  brow,  and  give  forth  your 
thought,  as  if  it  were  a  song  of  joy  that  you  could  not  keep  your 
tongue  from  singing,  even  if  all  the  larks  of  Heaven  had  bribed  you 
to  withhold  the  dangerous  rivalry.'' 

"It  is  neither  thought  nor  song,  dear  Carrie,  but  a  simple 
tiuth  which  has  been  suppressed  ;  nay,  something  more — it  is 
the  correction  of  a  fib  which  has  been  told  you,  and,  I  am 
sorry  to  confess,  with  my  sanction,  about  which  my  conscience 
has  been  uneasy  from  the  first  moment  of  its  utterance.  I  do  not 
like  concealments  of  any  kind,  but  this  is  something  worse  than  a  con 
cealment.  We  have  made  your  acquaintance — may  I  say,  your  friend 
ship — " 

"Oh,  yes!  it  is  friendship,  true,  loving  friendship  between  us. 
You—" 

"Thanks!  thanks!  It  is  what  I  hoped  for,  Carrie,  for  several 
reasons,  all  of  which  you  will  see  as  I  proceed,  without  making  it 
necessary  that  I  should  name  them.  Know  then,  Carrie,  that  T  am 
Bertha  Travis ! " 

"Bertha  Travis  !  oh,  how  did  I  dream  it !"  cried  Carrie  Sinclair, 
embracing  her.  "  Oh,  my  prophetic  soul  !  my  sister  ! " 

"Dream  it  !    Did  you  suspect  ?  " 

"No,  no!  I  must  not  say  that!  But,  from  the  very  moment, 
when  you  came  up  to  the  barony,  I  felt  that  you  were  dear  to 
me — that  I  had  a  peculiar  interest  in  you ;  and  never  since 


THE'   i-lYIL   iili'Jt. 

have  I  looked  into  your  face,  or  heard  your  words,  that  the  sight 
and  sound  have  not  Drought  up  the  image  of  oui    deji*  Willie  • 
and,  so   constant  was  this  association  that  I  found  myself  pei 
pctually  asking  the    question   of  my  thought — '  Why  is  this  »" 
and  the  only  answer  I  cpuld  get  to  the  question,  was  in  the  ocT, 
victioii  that  you   seemed   made  for   each  other ;    and  oh !    ho  * 
often    have   I   wished    that  the   unknown  Bertha  Travis  woui 
prove   like  you ;    and  I  sometimes    sighed    to  think   thaf     tier- 
might  not  be  the  case — in  spite  of  all  WiKic's  assurance?    Jiai 
YOU  were  certainly  perfect. 

"  Oh  !  you  must  not  repeat  such  nonsense  !"  answered  Be\  ih«, 
blushing.  "But,  in  truth,  dear  Carrie,  nothing  has  more  dis 
tressed  me.  apart  from  the  feeling  of  shame,  at  wearing  a  disguise, 
than  the  necessity  of  keeping  myself  hid  from  you.  I  longed,  a 
thousand  times,  to  throw  myself  into  your  arms,  and  say.  '  I  am 
the  simple  rustic  whom  tfie  simpler  Willie  Sinclair  has  preferred 
among  women  a?  his  wife.' " 

"  It  is  a  joy  delayed,  not  lost !  It  is  enough  that  we  have  it 
now,  my  own  Bertha,  and  that  your  avowal  leaves  me  nothing 
to  regret.  I  forgive  you  the  deception,  if  you  will  so  dignify 
your  assumption  of  the  name  of  Smith — which  so  distresses  my 
father — in  consideration  of  the  dear  delightful  surprise  which  the 
truth  occasions.  And  ypu  have  won  papa's  heart,  even  under 
the  odious  name  of  Smith !  He  spoke  so  gratefully  of  you,  an*, 
you  so  completely  satisfied  all  his  tastes,  that  he  said  to  ir.,-3,  he 
should  be  quite  pleased  if  you  were  Willie's  choice,  in  spite  of 
your  vulgar  name." 

"  He  said  the  same  thing  to  me." 

"  Ah !  did  he  r 

"Yes,  when  I  held  his  head  upon  the  sofa." 

"That  was  a  scene !  And  how  you  must  have  <een  distressed 
by  his  free  talking!  I  can  guess  what  it  must  have  been,  know 
ing  him  so  well;  and  it  worried  him  not  a  little,  afterward,  tc 
think  how  he  might  have  spoken.  What  he  did  say,  he  c<.uU 
not  easily  recall;  but  he  remembers  something  of  a  disqui-sitor 
upon  the  name  of  Smith,  which  he  fears  must  have  made  you 
very  uncomfortable.  Ha!  ha!  It  must  have  been  very  amusing 
in  spite  of  its  annoyances." 

"  You  may  readily  suppose,  noiv,  that  the  freedom  fee  took 


1-  EL'TAW. 

with  the  name  of  Smith  gave  me  no  annoyance  at  all.  But  he 
said  many  things  which  fully  aroused  me  to  the  ne^tss^y  of 
this  explanation  ;  which,  you  will  believe  me,  to  have  meditated 
before.  Ah  !  Carrie,  I  need  not  say,  that  it  was  a  rare  pleasure 
\r-  hear  such  words  of  affection  and  kindness  as  he  uttered  then, 
to  the  unknown  damsel,  from  the  lips  of  one  whom  I  should  be 
f/o  anxious  to  please.  But  I  can  not  describe  the  distress  which 
1  feel,  ie,-t  he  should  suppose  that  we  had  practised  a  deliberate 
trick  upon  him,  by  which  to  steal  i:\to  his  confidence." 

"  Oh  !  don't  let  that  worry  you  at  ail !  How  should  he  think 
such  a  thing  ?  You've  rather  avoided  us.  You  fled  from  our 
hospitality  —  rejected  all  our  entreaties  —  would  take  neither 
rest  nor  refuge  with  us — gave  no  name  —  sought  no  communion 
with  us  —  were  cold  of  manner,  if  not  repulsive  ;  and  we  should 
never  have  known  what  you  are,  felt  your  worth,  or  learned  to 
."cv3  you  fur  yourselves,  had  you  not  happened  upon  us,  in  our 
-.iour-of  trouble,  when,  so  far  from  disguising,  you  threw  off  all 
disguises,  and  suffered  your  heart  to  speak  out,  and  to  act, 
without  regard  to  e^f  at  all.  No  !  no  !  dear  Bertha,  my  father 
with  all  his  prejudices  and  passions,  seeks  honestly  to  be  just. 
His  pride,  as  a  gentleman,  requires  this.  His  justice,  in  his 
?,a!mer  moments,  is  perpetually  busied  in  repairing  the  faults 
•lone,  by  his  more  passionate  impulses.  ..Oh!  be  sure,  it  will  all 
,ome  right  now.  It  is  a  most  fortunate  providence  which  has 
Drought  us  together.  It  is  a  providence.  We  know  you  now 
personally.  He  has  been  enabled  to  know  you  under  circum 
stances  which  will  compel  his  justico,  and  favor  the  overthrow 
of  all  those  mistaken  notions  which  at  first  resolved  him  against 
your  claims  " 

It  was  grateful  to  Bertha  to  think  as  Carrie  counselled.     She 

.1  not  dispute  ';he  probabilities,  though  she  still  sighed  with  * 
doubt.  Hearts  that  truly  love  are  rarely  very  sanguine  of  their 
objects.  They  are  modest  of  their  claims  on  Fortune  in  degree 
as  they  put  a  high  value  on  the  prize  which  they  have  in  view. 
And  Bertha  spoke  her  misgivings  as  well  as  sighed  them ;  bui 
Carrie  wrapped  her  arms  about  her,  and  laughed  merrily,  ana 
spoke  assuringly,  saying  : — 

"  Nay,  no  doubts  now  of  the  future  !     Take  the  hope,  bright 

ingecl  as  it  is,  and  gayly  crowned,  to  your  bosom,  even  as  yov 


EVIL   EYE,  ±21 

tyoulil  shelter  the  bird  that,  of  itself,  flies  to  the  same  efuge  aa 
in  search  of  home.  And  so,  you  are  Bertha  Iravis  — Willie'F 
Bertha —  our  own  Bertha  !  And  you  art  beautiful !  I  thought 
so,  would-  you  oelieve  it,  Bertha,  even  when  I  wart  forced  to 
consider  you  as  Miss  Smith  —  wns  it  Araminta  or  Amina  Smith  ? 
—  or  merely  poor  little  humdrum  Annie  Smith,  one  simply  of 
a  very  numerous  family  ?" 

And  Carrie  laughed  as  she  h?-d  not  done  for  a  long  time 
before. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life.  '  »b. !  hov/ 
"Willie  will  rejoice  to  hear.  Now,  don't  think  me  ridiculous, 
Bertha,  but  I  feel  like  leaping,  dancing,  singing,  whirling  you 
about  in  the  bushes  —  romping  like  mad,  in  short,  even  as  the 
ittle  girl  in  possession  of  her  first  alabaster  doll. 

"  Oh  !  you  don't  surely  ranl<  me  in  the  doll-catalogue,  IP  it 
taat  which  you  mean  when  you  tell  me  of  my  beauty/' 

"  Hush  up,  Miss  Pert  or  I  shall  suspect  you  of  vanity.  Now, 
let  us  laugh  a  Vitle  and  sing.  We  can  romp  Here  in  satety. 
Nobody  to  see  our  antics  or  frown  upon  our  fun.  I  do  feel, 
Bertha,  like  wrestling  with  you  out  of  pure  love  and  joy,  and 
a  delight  that  has  hardly  any  measure !" 

The  merriment  of  Carrie  wao  c--  .ntagious.  Soon  the  girls  were 
laughing  merrily  and  romping  together,  Bertha's  heart  as  light 
now  as  if  it  had  not  come  forth  ^eavy —  nay,  not  light,  only 
gay,  for  she  had  many  unquiet  cares,  and  apprehensions  that  no 
momentary  gleam  of  joy  could  make  her  forget.  On  a  sudden, 
.ihe  stopped  short  in  her  laughter  —  stopped  in  the  lively  action 
which  the  arms  of  Carrie,  flung  around  her,  had  induced,  and 
burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

Carrie  was  shocked. 

*  Bertha,  dear  Bertha,  why  is  this  ?"     And  she  tenderly  drew 
^pr  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her,  and  wept  too,  from  sympathy 

•  Oh,  Carrie!  my  father  —  my  brother!" 
Then  foil' -wed  the  whole  sad  story. 

The  girls  wept  together      For  this  grief  Carrie  could 
ao  remedy. 

"But,"  she  said,  "they  can  be  in  no  danger.     Their 
•an  have  no  motive  to  do  rhem  harm." 

'  Ah   Carrie  '  that  captor  is  no  doubt  Richard  Inglehavr!t 


428  EUTAW. 

"I  have  heard  of  him.  But  "Willie  is  in  search  of  them 
Bertha,  my  love,  and  if  you  knew  him  as  you  must,  you  need 
not  be  told  that  he  will  never  forego  the  pursuit  while  there  is 
hope,  and  be  discouraged  from  no  effort  by  any  fear  of  toil  or 
danger.'' 

"  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  My  hope  is  in  him.  May  God  smile 
upon  his  efforts." 

What  a  close  kin  to  joy  is  grief.  Slowly  the  t\vo  girls,  the  arms 
of  Carrie  about  the  neck  of  Bertha,  went  toward  the  dwelling — not 
happy — but  meeker  and  fonder  of  heart — and  with  a  hope  ! — a  hope, 
such  as  is  ever  born  in  tears  ! 

They  had  talked  and  prattled  freely — said  together  a  thousand 
things  which  we  have  not  thought  proper  to  report — unveiled  a 
thousand  clues  to  their  mutual  histories  and  affections,  which  it 
must  suffice  for  us  to  conjecture ;  and  speaking  for  the  first  time 
together,  without  the  smallest  reserve,  laid  open  not  a  few  of  those 
mysterious,  yet  thinly-clad  secrets  of  the  maiden  heart,  which  love 
to  be  found  out  in  their  hiding-place  by  the  proper  seeker — never 
thinking  of  other  ears  than  their  own.  How  would  they  have 
been  shocked  and  troubled,  had  they  fancied  that  there  was  a  wit 
ness  present  all  the  while— who  had  seen  all  and  heard  much  ! 
One,  not  only  uncongenial,  but  hostile.  A  shadow  on  the  sunlight — 
a  reptile  among  the  flowers,  a  hideous,  inhuman  aspect,  such  as  the 
malicious  elf  appears,  when  he  breaks  in  upon  the  fairy  circle,  and 
puts  to  flight  the  gay,  bright,  fantastic  legions  of  the  courtly  Oberon  ! 

An  evil  eye  was  upon  the  maidens  while  they  opened  their 
mutual  souls  together  in  the  forest.  When  they  •had  gone,  the 
uncouth  and  unsightly  form  of  Dick  of  Tophet  rose  from  the  con 
cealing  shrubbery  in  which  he  had  enveloped  his  hostile  aspect, 
and  grinned  and  laughed  in  the  triumph  of  a  savage  purpose. 


. 


EVERYWHERE   THE   8>;S?SST   UNDER  THE    VINES. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

EVERYWHERE    THE   SERPENT    UNDER   TH'Jfi 

"  JEST  as  I  suspicioned !"  quoth  the  monster,  as  he  slowly 
rose  and  looked  about  him.  "It's  her.  It's  old  Travi*Ta 
daughter ;  and  hyar,  sure  enough,  is  old  Sinclair  and  his  da'gL 
ters.  Now,  couldn't  I  make  a  clean  sweep  of  the  whole  ki. 
and  biling  of  'em !  But  what's  the  profit  of  th&t  1  I  don  'f 
reckon  Sinclair's  got  any  much  gould  about  him,  sence  he  was 
on  his  way  down  to  Charleston  ;  but  the  gal  Las  a  watch  and 
rings  and  sich  small  jugleries.  We  kin  think  about  them  an 
other  time,  and  I  must  jest  be  on  the  lookout,  when  he  g  tarts 
off  agin.  As  for  doing  anything  agin  him  in  that  house,  'TWON'T 
DO  !  I  kaint  face  that  old  woman,  onless  I'm  in  a  humor  to  be 
doing  something  good.  I  kaint  stand  her  eye.  I  wish  I  hadn't 
had  to  kill  her  boy  !  He  was  only  a  boy.  I  might  ha'  tumbled 
aim,  suddent,  without  giving  him  the  knife ;  but  I  was  rashing 
quick  that  day,  all  owing  to  the  liquor.  And  then,  to  think, 
though  she  knows  it  all,  that  she  gin  me  the  very  book  of  that 
very  son !" 

He  reseated  himself  and  took  the  book  out  of  his  bosom. 
Turning  to  the  fly-leaf,  he  said : — 

"  Thar's  his  name  in  handwrite !  It's  mighty  strange. 
Ilyar's  a  boy  now  that  reads  this  handwrite  and  tells  me  the 
name  of  the  very  man  I  had  killed ;  yet  this  boy  never  knowed 
him,  and  never  knowed  I  killed  him.  I  had  a  mighty  strange 
feeling  on  me  when  I  haird  him  read  that  .name.  'Twaa 
strange  !  And  he  could  do — he  a  mere  sarcumstance  of  a  boy 
—  a  leetle  hop-o'-my-thumb  —  could  do  what  I  couldn't  do  a  man 
full  grown,  and  strong  as  a  horse !  It  stands  to  reason  that  P 


man  who  hain't  got  edicatiou,  must  be  doing  bad  tilings  1  Ef 
the  boy  was  a  rogue,  he  could  cheat  me  out  of  my  eyes,  by  the 
I'arning  of  handwrite  only.  And  me,  a  great  overgrown  big 
man.  It's  fhe  want  of  I'arning.  I  reckon  I  might  ha'  been 
gentleman  born  —  a  regilar  harry stocrat  —  ef  so  be  they  har 
given  me  the  book-Parning  like  this  boy.  But  it's  no  use  t*, 
talk.  When  a  man's  forty,  he  kaint  Para  much ;  and  the  more 
I  looks  at  this  printing,  the  more  it  seems  jest  like  a  great 
mountain  that  I  kaint  climb.  It's  worse  than  this  mountain 
hyar" — and  he  turned  k>  one  of  the  pictures  —  "Yes,  a  mighty 
deal  worse  !  I  could  go  up  that,  though  I  had  jest  such  a 
bundle  on  my  back  as  that  crooked  leetle  old  fellow  has  tr 
carry  !  Ha !  and  hain't  I  got  a  worse  bundle  than  ever  he 
toted,  ef  so  be  that's  a  bundle  to  signify  his  sins,  I  reckon  i 
Bat  it's  an  ixcusc  for  a  pusson  like  me  that  lied  a  sinful  edica- 
tion,  and  never  Parned  the  good  things  in  print  and  handwrite 
1  kaint  help  doing  what  I  does.  It's  the  needcessity  of  a  hard 
life,  you  see. 

"  And  thar's  more  to  be  done  of  the  same  business,  so  it's 
no  use  to  look  into  the  book  about  it."  And  he  restored  the 
ancient  volume  to  his  bosom.  "  Thar's  more  to  be  done  !  Let 
me  cee !"  And  he  laid  himself  down  on  his  back,  and  appeared 
to  meditate  —  after  awhile  : — 

"  Yee,  the  first  thought  is  the  best  a'ter  all !  I  must  carry 
-}£"  this  gal  to  Muddicoat  Castle.  That's  the  how !  First,  you 
see,  bekaise  the  cappin  ain't  altogether  as  scrumptious  with  me 
now  as  he  used  to  be ;  he's  a  leetle  suspicious,  I  reckon,  that 
old  Travis  has  mounted  my  weak  side  with  a  leetle  bag  of  gould 
guineas.  He's  put  Rafe  Brunsori  in  my  place,  and  Rafe  watches 
me  pretty  much  as  close  as  he  watches  his  prisoners.  Rafe 
Branson  to  watch  me !  But  he's  sot  to  do  it.  The  cappin's 
gin  him  his  orders.  That  shows  that  he  suspicions  me,  wliich 
ain't  so  sensible,  Cappin  Inglehardt,  for  a  pusson  that  knows  so 
much  as  you.  Now,  ef  I  kin  carry  him  this  gal  that  he's  so  hot 
a'ter,  I  make  all  things  square  agin.  That's  the  how.  That'll 
show  him  he  wasn't  quite  so  wise  when  he  put  Rafe  Brunson 
ahead  of  me. 

"And  where'll  be  the  harm  of  that?  -'Twon't  hurt  the  gal. 
What  if  she  don't  affection  the  cappin,  and  likes  Willie  Sinclair 


EVERYWHERE    THE    SERPENT   UNDER    THE    VINES.      431 

better?  Well,  I  reckon  all  this  liking  of  woman  is  jest  as  the 
notion  takes  'em.  To-day  its  one  man ;  to-morrow  its  another. 
Everything  goes  by  the  eye  while  the  gal's  young ;  and  they 
judge  of  men  only  by  the  eyesight.  But  that's  only  before  they 
cut  the  eye-teeth.  A'ter  that,  and  when  they  gits  a  lectle  usen 
to  it,  they  don't  care  much  about  the  looks  of  the  pusson.  It's 
the  man  himself.  Well,  the  cappin's  a  good-looking  pussou 
enough  ;  not  so  handsome,  prehaps,  as  Willie  Sinclair  in  a  gal's 
eye,  and  there  ain't  quite  so  much  of  him  ;  but  he'll  do ;  and 
a  young  gal  musn't  be  onreasonable  and  ixpect  too  much.  Ef 
she  gits  a  husband,  that's  young  enough,  and  well  looking  enough, 
that  kin  purvide  agin  the  nedcessity,  that's  all  she's  got  a  sen 
sible  right  to,  and  no  woman  ought  to  grumble  ef  she  gets 
that.  Well,  that's  what  I  gives  this  gal  ef  I  carries  her  off  to 
the  cappin.  He'll  marry  her  like  a  decent  white  man,  by  a  regi- 
lar  parson,  and  make  all  things  right  in  the  face  of  the  sun ; 
for  he  wants  to  hitch  her  by  law,  honest  and  regilar.  Well, 
what  more  can  she  *aix  of  any  white  man  ?  Suppose  she  don't 
like  it  at  first  — what  then?  She'll  hev'  to  like  it  at  last,  and 
make  the  most  of  it;  and  then  she'll  not  find  it  hard  to  carry 
on  business  as  a  married  woman.  So  that's  calkilated!  I  gives 
the  gal  a  husband — a  good-looking  young  fellow,  that's  able 
to  manage  her  affairs,  and  purvide  the  nedcessity  ;  and  I  puts 
it  out  of  the  cappin's  head  to  mistrust  and  suspicion  me.  I 
reckon  nobody  ought  to  complain  of  the  thing  ef  it's  done  up 
decent. 

"But  to  think  how  he  should  put  Rafe  Brunson  over  me,  to 
watch  me,  and  'keep  me  from  knowing  too  much,  and  putting 
a  finger  into  his  pie,  when  it's  a-baking !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Rafe 
Brunson  over  me.  That's  a  leetle  too  funny  to  be  quite  sen 
sible.  And  that  shows  how  a  man  may  be  a  leetle  more  cun 
ning  than  sensible.  Why,  with  a  single  look  of  my  eye,  I  kin 
drill  through  the  very  soul  and  witals  of  Rafe.  I  kin  see 
through  all  his  hollows  and  dark  places.  He  kaint  fool  me. 
But  I  kin  fool  him  out  of  his  seven  senses.  He's  great  for 
scouting,  and  kin  find  a'most  everything  in  the  thickest  woods; 
he's  better  than  me  at  that ;  for  I'm  not  so  good  at  sneaking. 
What.  I  does,  I  likes  to  do  with  a  rush.  But,  ef  I  kaint  sneak, 
I  kin  s'arch,  by  a  way  of  my  own.  I  knows  one  secret;  and 


EUTAW. 

that  is  to  find  out  where  another  man  hides  his  secret.  I  kin 
guess  pretty  nigh  what  my  inimy  is  thinking  about.  I  hev  a, 
sensible  idea  of  what  he's  a  guine  to  do ;  and  so  I  makes  ready 
for  him,  and  sets  an  ambushment  in  the  right  place.  Now, 
that's  the  sort  of  sense  that  Rafe  Branson  ain't  got,  let  him  be 
never  so  great  as  a  trailer.  Well,  Rafe's  put  over  me,  and  the 
keys  is  in  his  pocket ;  but  I  hev  the  power  to  feel  my  way  into 
Rafe's  head,  and  when  I  gits  thar,  I  jest  handles  his  pocket  like 
my  owrn ;  and  I  will  handle  it,  by  the  powers,  jest  as  long  as  I 
kin,  and  jest  as  if  I  had  a  natural  right  to  use  it.  And  hain't 
I  ?  When  a  man  can  tame  a  horse,  or  an  ox,  and  make  it  do 
jest  what  he  wants,  ain't  it  his'n  ?  And  when  a  pusson  has  the 
powrer  to  do  the  same  thing  with  another  pusson,  ain't  he  nat- 
erally  his'n  ?  And  ain't  Rafe  Brunson  my  own  property,  by 
nateral  right  and  training,  and  won't  I  use  him,  by  the  powers, 
jest  so  long  as  he's  able  to  go  —  let  Cappin  Inglehardt,  or  Cappin 
No-heart-at-all —  and  that's  jest  what  he  is  —  app'int  jest  as  he 
pleases. 

"  So  that  hash  is  about  cooked  right.  We  sees  what's  to  be 
done  —  the  why  and  the  wharf  ore  —  and  done  it  shill  be!  It's 
as  good  as  done,  sence  it's  sworn  to  !  I'm  to  carry  off  the  gal ; 
the  cappin  marries  her  ;  and  the  boy  is  let  out  of  prison  !  Darn 
the  fellow,  how  I  likes  him  !  I  don't  know  jest  why  ;  but  he 
reads  mighty  sweet.  It's  like  singing  jest  to  hear  him.  And 
he  s  full  of  spunk  and  sperrit,  too,  like  a  young  tiger,  when  he's 
got  the  chance  :  and  he  had  me  under  the  very  knife  and  didn't 
stick !  I  wonder  why  !  Not  another  inimy  of  mine,  that  I 
knows  on,  would  hev  given  me  time  to  say  '  God  help  me ! ' 
Yes,  if  his  sister  marries  the  cappin,  then  all's  right.  lie  gits 
cl'ar  of  captivation,  and  his  daddy  gits  cl'ar,  too,  and,  though  I 
shouldn't  feel  a  shiver,  or  snort  oneasy,  to  see  him  a-swinging, 
yet,  for  the  boy's  sake,  I'm  agreeing  he  should  get  off.  All's 
right ;  I  knows  what's  to  be  done  ;  and  then  for  that  other  busi 
ness  ! " 

Thus  ended  the  self-communing  of  Dick  of  Tophet,  carried  on 
in  the  thickest  coverts,  near  the  Widow  Avinger's  dwelling. 
What  is  the  other  business  to  which  he  alludes  ?  On  this  sub 
ject  his  talk  gives  us  no  clues.  He  has  not  sufficiently  medi 
tated  the  matter  for  utterance ;  or,  rather,  he  forbears  meditating 


EVERY  WHERE   THE   SBLIPENT    UNDER   THE    VINES.        438 

Pitil  the  time  snail  arrive  for  action.  Dick  of  Tophet  is  one 
ot  those  persons  who  usually  think  best  in  action,  or  in  com 
pliance  with  the  growth  and  pressure  of  the  occasion.  At  all 
events,  he  rarely  suffers  one  performance  to  interfere  with  an 
other 

He  rose  from  his  position  upon  the  ground,  and,  with  the 
habit  of  the  wolf,  he  worked  his  way  around  and  about  the 
settlement,  wherever  the  thickets  afforded  him  a  cover,  prowl 
ing,  in  the  vague  hope  of  gathering  up  some  unconsidered  prey 
or  spoil.  Suddenly,  he  sinks  back  into  cover.  He  sees  the 
negro  'Brain  emerging  from  the  settlement,  and  taking  his  way 
into  the  woods. 

'Brain,  since  his  return  to  the  widow's,  has  been  busy  scout 
ing  as  before.  Like  the  hound,  who  hunts  for  his  pastime, 
though  he  never  hears  the  horn  blow,  he  took  the  woods,  and 
••  looked  for  sign"  without  any  orders  from  his  master.  He  has 
been  somewhat  surprised  at  the  closing  up  of  Griffith's  old  es 
tablishment  by  the  roadoide,  but,  in  his  Sequent  compasses  in 
the  woods,  he  has  made  some  other  discoveries  which  keep  him 
active  and  excite  his  curiosity.  He  has  a  purpose  now,  in  ta 
king  the  woods,  just  as  night  is  coming  on.  He  goes  forward 
boldly,  never  once  dreaming  that  another  dog  of  fiercer  species 
than  his  own,  is  following  upon  his  track  with  the  keenest  nos 
trils.  How  'Brain  went  forward,  and  Devil  Dick  after  him, 
need  not  be  detailed  step  by  step.  Enough  that  Dick,  with 
some  surprise  and  disquiet,  tracked  the  negro  to  the  secret  place 
of  Griffith,  in  the  deep  thickets  where  he  had  left  his  little 
squad.  He  had  readily  recognised  the  negro,  knew  his  merits 
as  a  scout,  knew  his  relations  with  Willie  Sinclair,  and  began 
to  apprehend  that  the  latter  might  be  about.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  Sinclair  might  have  assigned  him  to  a  temporary 
service  with  the  Travis's.  But  Dick's  disquiet  did  not  make 
him  heedless  of  the  profit  which  might  accrue  to  himself  from 
his  own  discovery.  He  kept  as  close  as  possible  to  the  heels 
of"  ?J3ram,  prudently  however,  and  carefully  timing  his  progress 
so  as  to  avoid  discovery.  It  was  something  in  his  favor,  that, 
though  a  good  scout,  'Bram  was  always  a  little  too  easily  as 
sured.  The  negro  nature  did  not  suffer  him  to  take  any  pre- 
.cautions  which  involved  murh  trouble  ;  and  the  tedious  prelim 

.a 


*'<  EUTAW. 

Inarios  of  feeling  his  way  out,  at  ilic  start,  always  a  first  neces 
city  with  every  good  scout,  were  font  too  apt  to  be  Dispensed 
with  by  our  son  of  Ethiop,  in  spite  of  all  teaching  and  cxperi 
ence.     He  went  forward,  boldly  enough,  never  once  seeming  tc 
recollect  that  it  was  not  quite  dark,  till  he  had  got  beyond  the, 
widow's  precincts.     Then,  as  he  drew  near  to  the  public  road, 
he  began  to  peer  out  cautiously  before  him,  ere  he  ventured  to 
cross  to  the  woods  opposite.     He  could  still  distinguish  objects 
in  the  dusky  light,  though  at  no  great  distance,  and  here  his 
precautions  began.    They  were  duly  increased  as  he  approached 
the  hidden  cabin  of  Griffith.     At  this  stage  of  his  progress,  no 
snaking  could    have  been  better   done.      So  Dick  of  Tophet 
thought,     compelled  to  observe  the  most   singular  precautions 
himself,  to  escape  discovery.     But  'Bram  never  once  looked  be 
hind  him.     The  poor  negro  never  dreamed  of  the  wolf-dog  at 
his  own  heels.     But  neither  now  could  see.     The  reliance  of 
both  was  now  necessarily  upon  another  sense.     The  vision  of 
the  negro,  by  night,  is  usually  better  than  that  of  the  white 
man,   but   his   hearing   is    commonly   more    obtuse.      Dick   of 
Tophet's  ears,  bored  as  one  of  them  was  by  Travis's  bullet 
were  worth  a  score  of  'Bram's.     But  'Bram  was  not  dull  in  thi.. 
'acuity.     Suddenly,  as  he  neared  the  house,  he  heard  a  movte- 
roent.     He  had  startled  some  other  scout  from  a  place  of  watch 
"  Who'  da'  dat  ?     I  yer.  sorr-et'ing  move."     A  country  negro 
is  given  to  soliloquy,  and  these  words,  though  in  a  whisper  to 
himself,  were  distinctly  uttered.     He  had  scared  our  poor  girl 
Nelly  Floyd  from  her  perch.    She  was  loitering  about  the  cabin 
in  the  hope  to  see  her  wilful  brother,  and  if  possible  to  speak 
with  him  :  but  she  had  failed  that  night.     She  fled  on  the  ap 
proach  of  'Bram,  deeper  into  the  covert.     The  negro  soon  for 
got  the  rustling  sound  which  had  reached  his  ears,  and  finally 
made  his  way  under  the  eaves  of  the  cabin. 

The  squad  of  Dick  of  Tophet  were  —  to  use  the  expressive 
idiom  of  the  vulgar  —  at  <s  high  jenks,"  as  usual.  Drink  and 
play  —  "tipsy  dance  and  jollity,1'  in  abundant  variety,  relieved, 
for  them,  the  tedium  of  hours  not  employed  in  strife  and  spoil 
They  commonly  led  to  both.  Very  soon,  the  ears  of  Dick  of 
'Cnphet  enabled  him  to  distinguish  the  drunken  shout,  the  ban 
•.hamiulian  song,  the  blw*plienr<y  and  brutal  speech. 


EVERYWHERE  THE  SERPENT  UNDER  THE  VINES.  435 


"Thar's  no  having  good  sodgers  out  these'  fellows,  do  what 
you  will,"  quoth  he.  "Now  hyar's  a  spy  onder  their  very  noses 
and  they  never  smells  him  out ;  and,  ef  he  had  the  power 
wouldn't  he  give  'em  blisters  !  If  he  had  but  three  fellows  with 
him,  and  they  had  the  we'pons,  he  could  jest  now  scalp  and 
massacres  the  whole  kit  and  b'iling  of  'em." 

And  as  negro  'Bram  heard  the  uproar,  and  peering  through 
the  crevices  beheld  the  condition  of  the  crowd,  he  too  had  his 
soliloquy. 

' '  Ha  if  Mass  Willie  bin  '  yer,  wid  only  five,  free  or  seben 
ob  he  dragoon,  wouldn't  he  mak'  de  fedders  fly  ! " 

Poor  'Bram!  In  less  than  twenty  minutes  after  this  reflec 
tion,  his  own  feathers  were  clipped.  He  was  suddenly  startled 
into  consciousness,  at  a  moment  when  his  eyes  were  greedily 
watching  our  ruffians  over  a  portly  jug  of  rum,  by  the  weight 
of  a  mountain  on  his  shoulder,  which  bore  him  flat  upon  the 
earth,  face  downward.  The  gigantic  limbs  of  Dick  of  Tophet 
were  over  him,  straddling  him,  as  the  old  man  of  the  sea 
straddled  Sinbad,  and  his  struggles  against  the  unlooked-for- 
enemy,  were  just  as  impotent  for  escape  as  those  of  the  Arabian 
adventurer.  He  howled,  and  kicked,  and  strove,  manfully  enough, 
but  in  vain  ;  while,  shouting  to  his  followers  within  the  cabin, 
Dick  soon  brought  them  forth,  quite  able,  however  drunk,  to 
secure  the  captive  which  their  chief  had  taken.  To  rope  him 
and  lift  him  into  the  hut  was  an  easy  process.  Poor  'Bram. 
prostrate  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  was  effectually  humbled.  His 
scouting  was  all  at  once  put  to  shame. 

"Ef  I  hadn't  ha'  been  see  dat  rum,"  was  his  first  reflection, 
followed  by  another.  "I  'speck  I  mus'  been  grunt.  Jim  Bal- 
lou  bin  tell  me  'bout  dat  grunt  befo',  but  I  nebber  tink  I  grunt. 
And,  oh  !  Lawd,  now  I  in  de  nan'  ob  dis  Hell-fire  Dick  !" 

That  he  was  a  a  gone  coon,  was  his  natural  reflection.  He 
took  for  granted  that  he  was  to  be  scalped,  hung,  and  slaugh 
tered.  But  Dick  of  Tophet  had  some  small  economies  present 
to  his  mind,  which  effectually  shut  out  such  sanguinary  ideas  as 
were  conjured  up  by  the  fears  of  our  captive. 

"  That's  fifteen  guineas  cl'ar  gain,"  quoth  he,  as  he  saw  the 
negro  fairly  wrapped  up  in  hemp.  "Hark  ye,  boys,  why  the 
h — 1  kaint  ye  watch  as  well  as  drink.  Ef  play  and  drink  was 


436  EUTAW. 

the  business,  as  I  reckon  it  always  will  be,  why  the don't 

you  jest  set  one  of  the  party  to  snaking  round,  and  take  it  by 
turns  at  the  business,  You'll  be  sarcum vented,  and  every 
scalp  will  feel  the  knife  some  day,  when  you're  all  soaked 
to  the  very  soul  in  liquor.  I  doesn't  say  you  slwiii't  drink 
and  you.  shain't  play,  but  d — n  your  livers,  kaint  you  do 
some  watching  at  the  same  time.  Ef  you  was  in  the  reg- 
ilar  sarvice  now,  whar  would  you  be  ?  At  the  halberds, 
every  mother's  kaif  among  ye,  and  gitting  his  thirty-nine 
lashes !  — But  put  up  your  kairds,  and  put  up  your  liquor. 
You've  been  putting  it  down  pretty  freely.  I  wants  three  on 
you.  You,  Gus  Clayton,  you,  Sam  Jones,  and  you,  Mat  Floyd. 
Git  up,  all  three  on  you,  and  hyar  to  what  I  says."  When 
they  had  risen  he  drew  them  aside.  "  It's  three  guineas  in 
3rour  pocket  —  one  apiece  —  the  business  I'm  guine  to  send  you 
on.  In  two  hours,  you  set  off  with  that  nigger,  take  him  be 
hind  one  on  you,  and  trot  down  to  Griffith,  and  deliver  him  to 
Griffith,  and  each  of  you  shall  git  his  guinea,  in  the  hand.  In 
two  hours,  mind  you  —  and  —  a  guinea  a-piece.  But  ef  you  drop 
him  by  the  way,  your  heads  shall  pay  for  it.  No  drink,  you 
hyar !  No  stopping  to  play  !  Square  up  to  the  work,  and  do  it, 
onless  you'd  see  blazes." 

And,  while  poor  Nelly  Floyd,  sleeping  soundly,  exhausted 
by  long  watching  and  hard  riding,  was  oblivious  in  her  thickets, 
her  wretched  brother  was  riding  off,  with  Gus  Clayton  and  Sam 
Jones,  on  their  way  to  Griffith's  "Swamp  Hellery!"  —  as  they 
had  already  learned  to  style  the  precinct,  each  of  them  nursing 
an  eager  appetite,  which  the  commission  of  Dick  of  Tophet  had 
instantly  suggested  to  their  minds.  Even  as  they  rode,  Gus 
Clayton  spurred  his  nag  to  the  side  of  Jones,  who  carried  the 
negro,  arid  said: — 

"Sam,  you  haird  what  Griffith  said  to  Old  Brimstone  —  an 
irreverent  mode  of  naming  Dick  of  Tophet  —  "about  a  rich 
fellow  named  Adair,  living  near  about  upon  Pooshee  ?  " 

"Reckon  I  did.     And—" 

"Mighty  rich  old  chap  —  and — " 

"Yes!  — and— " 

And  in  this  way,  the  three  compared  notes  in  their  progress. 
We  need  not  report  their  dialogue.  Enough,  that  the  subordi- 


EVERYWHERE  THE  SERPENT  UNDER  THE  VINES.   437 

nate  villains  very  soon  concocted  a  scheme  among  themselves 
by  which  to  anticipate  one  of  the  purposed  crimes  of  their 
superior. 

They  reached  Griffith's  in  safety,  delivered  the  negro,  and 
received  three  guineas,  one  apiece.  They  loitered  and  drank  a 
little,  Griffith  being  an  indulgent  publican.  In  the  meantime, 
Clayton  picked  up  all  the  information  he  could  touching  the 
whereabouts  of  Sam  Peter  Adair,  the  rich  old  gentleman,  dying 
of  liver  complaint  or  consumption,  and  occupying,  temporarily, 
the  deserted  dwelling  of  one  of  the  Devaux  family.  It  was 
easy  to  pick  up  this  intelligence.  Griffith,  himself,  was  garru 
lous,  and  some  soldiers  wrho  had  stolen  off  from  duty  at  Wan- 
toot,  coming  in  at  midnight,  gave  an  account  of  a  great  dinner 
that  very  day,  which  Adair  had  given  to  the  officers  of  both 
Pooshee  and  Wantoot,  from  which  most  of  them  went  home 
drunk.  Drunkenness,  in  those  days,  be  it  remembered,  wras  not 
a  military  offence,  except  wrhen  on  duty.  Our  ruffians  drank  in 
eagerly  everything  that  was  spoken,  then  quietly  took  their 
departure,  a  little  before  daylight — but  not  to  go  very  far. 
They  simply  retired  to  the  neighboring  w^oods,  and  compared 
notes.  The  robbery  of  old  Adair  was  determined  upon,  to  be 
executed  the  ensuing  night.  They  were  to  tax  their  invention 
for  a  lie,  by  which  to  excuse  themselves  for  not  returning 
promptly,  the  next  day,  to  their  officer.  All  this  was  easy. 
And  the  next  steps  were  so  to  ascertain  the  actual  condition  of 
Adair's  household,  as  to  arrange  the  details  of  the  burglary. 
We  need  not  attempt  to  gather  up  these  details. 

Sam  Peter  Adair,  that  day,  entertained  a  single  guest,  in  a 
person  who,  in  South  Carolina,  enjoys  a  certain  amiable  reputa 
tion,  as  one  of  the  few  British  officers  who  exhibited  traits  of 
courtesy,  tolerance,  and  magnanimity,  in  dealing  with  his  foes. 
This  was  Major  John  Marjoribanks,*  a  fine-looking  gentleman, 

*  Marjoribariks.  The  original  surname  of  this  family  wns  Johnston,  but 
at  what  period  the  alteration  took  place,  can  not  now  be  determined:— it 
continues,  however,  to  bear  the  Johnston  arms.  The  assumed  surname, 
which  is  local,  is  said  to  have  been  thus  derived :— When  Walter,  high- 
steward  of  Scotland,  and  ancestor  of  the  royal  house  of  Stewart,  married 
Marjone,  only  daughter  of  Robert  Bruce,  and  eventually  heir  to  his  crown, 
the  baronjr  of  Ratho  was  granted  by  the  king  as  a  marriage-portion  to  his 
daughter,  by  charter,  wfh'ch  is  still  extant;  and  those  lands  being  subse- 


438  EUTAW. 

of  middle  age,  then  commanding  a  fl<mk  battalia  i,  and  stationed 
for  a  time,  at  Mouck's  Corne*  which  post  Kawdon  had  re-estab 
lished  Hie  duties  calling  him  to  the  neighborhood  of  Wantoot 
and  Pooshee,  Adair  eagerly  sought  oat  Marjoribanks,  and  made 
him  his  guest  while  in  the  vicinity.  Hence  the  dinner-party  of 
which  Griffith  has  told  us;  the  officers  at  Wantoot  and  Pooshe:- 
being  invited  to  meet  with  Marjonibanks.  He  remained,  after 
they  had  gone,  and  though  but  a  portion  of  the  guests  suffered 
from  the  wine,  lu  the  manner  reported  at  Griffith's,  yet  all  o ' 
LCiem  were  made  sufficiently  to  approve  of  the  host's  old  Ma 
deira. 

Of  Sam  Peter  himself  we  have  been  able  to  gather  but  few 
particulars,  and  these,  probably,  would  have  been  lost  to  us, 
rut  for  the  terrible  character  of  the  subsequent  events.  He 
wa-"  apparently,  a  man  of  fortune,  having  claims  of  considerable 
ti.v-.iit  in  the  precinct  where  we  find  him,  which  he  derived 
ui/ur  aileged  conveyances  of  Sir  John  Colleton.  He  had 
epo.r.t  a  portion  of  his  life  in  the  precinct,  and  had  a  liking  for 
it.  This  taste,  and  the  hoped-for  satisfaction  of  these  claims 
were,  it  seems,  +he  motives  for  returning  to  the  country  from 
Florida  at  this  juncture.  The  climate  seemed  to  suit  his  con 
dition  as  an  invalid,  and  the  British  influence  was  essential  tc 
his  claims.  It  was,  perhaps,  for  the  better  assertion  of  these 
that  he  had  a  land-surveyor  with  him,  a  person  named  Moore, 
of  good  convivial  habits  like  his  own.  Sam  Peter  was  a  bon 
viva  fit ;  a  trifler ;  an  old  beau,  very  fastidious  about  his  cos 
tume,  always  wearing  the  biggest  gold  shoe  and  knee  buckles, 
the  most  capacious  ruffs  at  bosom  and  wrist,  the  biggest  buttons 
\\t  his  coat,  and  a  shock  always  starched  and  stiffened  into  a 
solid  mass  by  pomatum  and  hair  powder.  He  was  a  little 
bilious,  dried-up,  red-herring  sort  of  body,  who  might  lava 
passed  for  a  Spanish  grandee  of  the  genuine  blue  blood.  And 
his  wife,-  Mrs.  Sam  Peter,  was  very  much  like  her  liege ,  quite 
ae  ugly  and  as  bilious,  as  insignificant  of  person,  and  as  careftT 
of  her  person.  With  the  free  use  of  cosmetics  she  had  brought 
her  face  to  the  perfect  aspect  of  the  whited  sepulchre,  from  the 
blankness  of  which  her  keen,  fine,  bright  black  eyes  peered 

•juently  denominated  "  T&rre  de  Matho  -Marj oriebankjs, "  gave  rise  to  the 
>f   Murjoribunka. — Burke' s  Pee  itjc  and  Baronetage. 


EVEEYWHEEE  THE  SERPENT  UNDER  THE  VINES.  439 

out,  like  a  couple  of  rare  jewels,  burning  at  the  bottom  of  a 
well.  Her  husband  and  self  were  equally  vain.  They  trav 
elled  with  a  trunk  of  silver  plate,  which  they  sought  every 
occasion  to  display.  He  gloried  in  a  dinner-table  exhibition,  and 
wasted  himself  and  wines  freely,  in  the  hope  to  secure  the  hom 
age  of  those  who  preyed  on  both.  She,  meanwhile,  coquetted 
with  all  her  guests  in  turn,  as  sillily  as  the  poor  little  girl  of 
fifteen,  who  is  feeding,  for  the  first  time,  on  the  arch  flatteries 
of  young  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing.  Between  the  vanities  of 
these  twro  poor  old  creatures,  both  on  the  threshhold  of  eternity, 
Majoribanks  found  that  his  three  days'  quarters  with  them  had 
required  a  greater  outlay  of  lying  civilities,  than  he  had  ever 
been  required  to  expend  in  three  years'  service  in  any  other 
household.  Their  exactions  were  inordinate.  The  lord  was 
very  tenacious  about  his  wines,  every  bottle  of  which  had  its 
history  ;  about  his  seals  and  crystals,  of  which  he  had  a  collec 
tion  ;  about  his  sterling  plate,  which  was  not  only  massive,  but 
elaborately  wrought  and  ornamented  by  the  graver,  in  a  style 
which  he  thought  worthy  of  Benvenuto  Cellini ;  about  his 
sword  and  pistols,  gold-headed  cane  and  smiff-box ;  —  his  ox, 
his  ass,  and  everything  that  was  his — except  his  wife!  He 
made  no  sort  of  boast  of  her.  He  challenged  no  man's  admira 
tion  to  that  commodity.  But  her  challenge  was  not  to  be  gain- 
sayed.  She  taxed  our  British  major  at  backgammon.  She 
held  a  good  hand  at  whist.  She  played  on  the  harp  —  badly 
enough  —  but  the  attitude  enabled  her  to  display  her  attenuated 
figure  ;  and  she  sang  with  a  loud,  cracked  voice,  that  knocked 
every  sentiment  on  the  head  the  moment  it  began  to  breathe. 
But  as  vain  people  are  apt  to  be  good-humored  and  amiable 
while  you  keep  them  well  served  with  the  aliment  they  seek, 
so  it  was  not  difficult,  except  in  the  case  of  very  conscientious 
people,  to  tabernacle  with  them  for  a  short  season. 

There  had  been  a  long  session  that  day.  The  dinner-table 
not  spread  till  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  was  not  aban 
doned  till  midnight.  The  party  consisted  of  the  host  and  hos 
tess,  Marjoribanks  and  Moore.  The  wine  was  freely  circulated.  The 
host  dwelt  upon  his  experience  in  the  English  fashionable 
world.  He  was  one  of  those  poor  devils  who  fancy  they  rise 
into  importance  by  exalting  the  foreign  at  the  expense  of  the 


440  EUTAW. 

domestic.  The  lady  had  her  early  conquests  to  narrate,  to  al, 
of  which  Sam  Peter  seemed  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  —  perhaps,  if 
the  truth  were  known,  an  unbelieving  one.  Marjoribauks  was 
of  gay,  elastic  mood,  good  sense,  steady,  yet  shrewd  and  obser 
vant,  lie  had  his  anecdotes  of  army  life,  which  he  told  with 
spirit.  Moore,  whenever  he  filled  his  glass,  spoke  to  the  host, 
and  looked  to  the  lady,  bowing  and  smirking.  He  praised  the 
lands,  goods,  and  chattels  of  the  one,  and  sighed  and  gazed 
languishingly,  when  he  beheld  the  chaims  of  the  other.  He 
knew  the  art  of  feathering  his  own  nest  from  the  beds  of  richer, 
if  less  sagacious  people.  What  with  cards  and  music — for  the 
lady  always  contrived  to  prove,  before  the  day  wTas  over,  that 
by  no  possibility  could  she  ever  undergo  transformation  to  a 
nightingale — the  hours  sped  till,  having  reached  the  extremest 
length,  they  began  to  contract  to  the  shortest,  ere  the  hostess  swept 
out  of  the  room  with  a  bow,  and  smile,  waving  her  hand  grace 
fully,  as  if  dispensing  ambrosial  slumbers.  Moore  soon  after 
ward  dropped  off,  but  not  before  he  had  shown  some  awkward 
inclination  to  drop  under  the  table;  —  and  Marjoribanks  and  our 
host  were  left  together,  with  the  decanter  before  them  pretty 
nearly  reduced.  By  this  time  the  latter  had  gone  into  a  long 
narrative  of  his  own  affairs,  Marjoribanks  hardly  able  to  sup 
press  his  yawns  ;  and  was  building  up  a  most  glorious  future  of 
fortune  out  of  the  prospects  and  possibilities  of  the  present. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "at  the  least  twenty-four  thousand  acres 
of  land  ;  a  baronet's  inheritance  !  and  why  not  a  baronetcy  ?  We 
have  had  such  and  other  titles  before  this  in  Carolina.  And  — 
remind  me  in  the  morning  —  I  wrill  show  you  my  plan  of  a 
castle,  somewhat  after  that  of  our  lords  of  Northumberland,  bul 
with  very  decided  improvements.  Yes,  I  think  I  may  venture 
to  say,  very  superior  improvements,  especially  in  the  towrers, 
which  I  shall  greatly  relieve  by  the  interposition  of  corridors. 
I  shall  park  no  less  than  ten  thousand  acres  for  deer,  and  flatter 
myself  that  my'  scheme  of  fisheries  for  these  swamps  will  give 
me  such  preserves  as  the  world  has  never  before  witnessed. 
They  are  admirable  by  nature  for  the  purposes  of  fish-breeding." 

But  we"  need  not  repeat  the  dreams  of  this  vain,  poor,  feeble, 
old  creature.  The  reflection  of  Marjoribanks,  as  he  listened  to 
him,  will  serve  our  purpose. 


EVERYWHERE    THE    SERPENT    UNDER   THE    VINES,      -i-il 


' '  Great  heavens  ! "  said  he  — "  what  a  strange  mystery  is 
man  !  Here,  now,  is  this  vain  old  fool,  making  his  calculations 
for  a  thousand  years,  who  has  scarcely  more  than  one  to  live. 
He  can  hardly  last  out  another  winter  !  Were  there  ever  two 
such  old  fools?  Without  chick  or  child,  they  calculate  as  if 
their  posterity  covered  a  thousand  hills;  without  grace  of  per 
son,  speech,  look,  thought,  or  sentiment,  they  talk  at  you,  as  if 
the  whole  "world  were  eagerly  looking  on  and  listening  ! " 

And  thus  they  separated  for  the  night,  Majoribanks  observ 
ing  that  his  host  gathered  up  a  hand-basket,  heavy  with  plate, 
which  Mrs.  Sam  Peter  had  placed  beside  her  lord  before  she 
left  the  room.  This  burden,  for  it  was  such,  the  little  old  man 
was  wont  to  carry  religiously  to  his  chamber  every  night,  and 
store  away  needfully,  as  in  supposed  safety,  beneath  the  head 
of  his  bedstead. 

"Calculating,"  quoth  Majoribanks,  ''for  a  thousand  years, 
yet  with  scarcely  more  than  one  in  which  to  live ! " 

Little  did  even  the  latter  fancy  that  his  allowance,  short  as 
it  is,  was  yet  too  extravagant.  Little  did  the  poor,  silly  old 
man,  meditating  a  baronet's*  escutcheon,  ever  dream  that  the 
decree  had  already  gone  forth — "Fool!  this  night  shall  thy 
soul  be  required  of  thee  1 " 

19* 


442  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

THE   TIGER    RAGES    IK   THE     SHEEP    COTE — THE     VULTURE 
CARRIES   OFF   THE   DOVE. 

IT  was  a  warm  night,  but  not  oppressively  so  for  the  season. 
The  stars  were  bright,  the  winds  were  whisht.  The  great  forests 
slept  profoundly  all  about  the  dwelling.  One  would  think  that 
Peace  harbored  here  in  perfect  security;  but  why  do  those  dusky 
stealthy  forms  glide  from  cover  to  cover,  through  the  grounds  and 
about  the  porches.?  Why  do  they  hold  whispered  consultation 
in  the  shadows  of  yonder  clump  of  cedars?  Why  do  they  now 
gather  beneath  the  eaves?  Such  Indian  stealth  would  seem  to  argue 
hostility. 

Majoribanks  could  not  sleep.  He  had  drank  too  much  wine 
for  sleep,  and  he  lay  listless  upon  his  couch,  indulging  in  deli 
cious  reveries,  which  were  not  less  so  because  of  the  vagueness  of  the 
hopes  which  filled  them,  and  the  shadowy  doubts  that  arc  ever 
a  burden  to  the  blessedest  hopes.  His  room  wras  in  a  wing.  The 
main  building  had  a  piazza  in  front  which  did  not  extend  to  the 
wings.  Sam  Peter  Adair  and  his  wife  occupied,  as  a  chamber,  one 
of  the  rooms  in  the  main  building,  a  single  window  of  which  opened 
upon  the  piazza.  The  house  stood  upon  brick  pillars  six  feet 
high.  This  ascent  was  overcome  by  a  flight  of  steps  which  con 
ducted  into  the  piazza,  and  thence,  by  a  central  passage,  into  the 
house. 

As  Majoribanks  lay  upon  his  bed,  undressed  but  not  sleep 
ing,  he  could  see  a  corner  of  the  piazza,  and  a  bit  of  green  tree 
here  and  there,  and,  occassionally,  a  star  dropping  off  to  bed 
after  a  long  night's  shindy  in  the  skies.  But  he  saw  nothing 


THE  TIGEK  RAGES  IN  THE  SHEEP-COTE.  443 

more.  How  long  he  may  have  lain  thus,  he  knows  not,  nor  do 
we.  He  does  not  think  he  slept.  We  have  our  doubts.  He 
admits  to  a  drowsy  feeling,  at  last,  after  a  protracted  vigil; 
from  which  he  was  startled  by  a  crash,  and,  he  fancied,  by  a 
cry  or  shriek,  proceeding  from  the  chamber  of  the  ancient 
couple. 

To  start  up,  snatch  his  pistols,  and  dart  his  head  through  the 
window,  were  all  the  work  of  an  instant  only.  There  he  caught 
sight  of  a  dusky  figure  in  the  piazza,  handing  a  bundle,  or  basket, 
to  another  on  the  steps.  In  a  moment  Majoribanks  guessed 
the  whole  mystery,  and  he  deliberately  fired  on  the  more  con 
spicuous  robber  and  brought  him  down.  The  other,  half  seen 
on  the  steps,  darted  away.  Our  major  sent  a  second  bullet 
after  him,  as  he  ran,  but  apparently  without  effect.  To  sally 
out,  sword  in  hand,  leaping  through  the  window,  was  the  next 
performance  of  Majoribanks,  but  he  soon  found  that  such  pursuit 
was  idle.  The  ruffians,  few  or  many,  were  soon  covered  in  the 
thickets. 

To  return  to  the  house,  rouse  the  servants  in  the  kitchen,  get 
lights  and  survey  the  premises,  consumed  some  time;  and,  in  the 
meanwhile,  the  wounded  robber  made  a  desperate  effort  to  crawl  off; 
he  had  crept  down  the  steps  into  the  yard,-  but  had  fainted  from  loss 
of  blood,  and,  when  picked  up,  was  quite  insensible,  with  a  severe 
wound  in  the  thigh. 

It  was  with  feelings  of  trembling  horror  and  apprehension 
that,  having  gathered  the  servants,  with  lights,  Majoribanks 
proceeded  to  the  chamber  of  his  host,  Everything  was  silent 
in  that  quarter.  The  villains  had  entered  by  the  piazza  win 
dow,  which  had  been  left  open,  with  only  a  light  muslin  curtain. 
The  crash  which  had  startled,  or  awaked,  our  major,  was  that 
of  the  sash,  which  seems  to  have  fallen,  was  perhaps  torn  out, 
by  one  of  the  robbers  while  making  his  exit.  They  had  done 
their  work  as  thoroughly  as  terribly.  Though  their  object  was 
robbery  only,  it  involved  the  murder  of  both  Adair  and  his 
wife.  They  had  been  awakened,  it  would  seem,  to  a  conscious 
ness  of  the  presence  of  the  robbers,  and  Adair  had  shown  fight . 
His  gold-headed  rapier  was  still  griped  fast  in  his  hand— the 
blade  broken  beneath  him,  where  he  lay,  stark,  stiff  upon  the 
floor.  He  had  been  stabbed  by  a  knife,  two  wounds,  both  upon 


4:44  EUTAW. 

Jie  breast.  His  wife  bad  been  strangled,  evidently  chokea 
down  by  muscular  fingers,  as  sbe  offered  tbe  vain  efforts  of  bei 
woman  strengtb  to  tbe  rescue  of  her  husband.  Her  gray  bairs, 
usually  concealed  by  a  wig,  were  torn  out  and  scattered  upon 
tbe  floor.  Her  face,  neck,  and  body,  were  black  witb  bruises, 
but  tbere  had  evidently  been  no  blow,  which  could  have  pro 
duced  her  death.  But  the  marks  of  the  fatal  fingers  were  prom 
inent  enough  upon  her  neck.  Both  were  dead  when  they  were 
discovered. 

And  there,  and  thus,  were  ended  the  chapters  of  a  most  egre 
gious  mortal  vanity.  So  Marjoribanks  thought  as  he  viewed 
the  ill-fated  couple.  When  he  thought  of  the  poor,  silly  dreams 
and  anticipations  which  possessed  their  feeble  souls,  but  a  few 
hours  before,  the  event  grew  more  and  more  horribly  dark  and 
awful.  The  thing  was  so  sudden,  the  disproportion  of  penalt) 
to  desert,  seemed  so  disgusting  as  the  work  of  Fate,  that  Marjo 
ribanks,  though  shuddering,  could  scarce  believe  the  horrors 
which  he  beheld.  Such  frail,  feeble,  butterfly  natures  to  bo 
broken  on  the  wheel !  It  seemed  to  him  the  worst  sort  of  mur 
der  ;  like  crushing  an  infant  between  the  jaws  of  a  crocodile. 

Of  course,  our  major  of  brigade  did  his  duty  in  the  premises. 
He  sent  despatches  to  the'commanding  officer  both  at  Wantoot 
and  Pooshee,  and  soon  had  a  detachment  of  horse  to  guard  the 
property,  take  possession  of  the  prisoner,  and  scour  the  woods. 
But  our  purpose  is  not  to  follow  the  history  of  this  transaction, 
and  it  is  only  an  episode  in  our  narrative,  which  would  not  have 
been  introduced  at  all,  but  for  tbe  fact,  that  one  of  our  dramatis 
personce  is  involved  in  the  affair.  The  captive  robber,  whom 
Marjoribanks  had  wounded,  is  the  silly,  restless,  purposeless, 
thoughtless,  young  scapegrace,  Matthew  Floyd,  brother  of  our 
forest  girl,  Harricane  Nell ! 

He  had  sworn  to  his  sister  that  be  should  always  carry  a 
knife  which  should  defeat  the  rope ;  he  had  assured  her,  that 
in  the  regular  service,  he  possessed  immunity  from  this  latter 
clanger.  And  he  did  carry  the  knife ;  and,  even  when  crawl 
ing  down  the  steps,  wounded,  the  blood  gushing  at  every  move 
rnent,  he  thought  of  the  boast  that  he  had  made  to  her;  and, 
feeling  for  the  weapon  in  his  bosorn,  he  congratulated  himself 
that  he  had  it  in  reserve  for  the  occasion.  But,  even  at  tKi* 


THE   TIGEK   KAGES    IN    THE    SHEEP-COTE.  445 

moment  he  swooned  into  utter  apathy,  and  when  he  again 
opened  his  eyes  to  consciousness,  he  was  manacled,  a  prisoner, 
and  his  weapon  gone.  That  security  lost,  we  shall  see  what  is 
the  virtue  in  being  registered  a  king's  man,  on  the  muster  rolls 
of  Captain  Inglehardt's  loyal  rangers.  But  of  his  fate  there 
will  be  time  enough  hereafter.  Let  us  bestow  our  regards  on 
more  important  personages. 

Our  friends,  tying  perdu  at  the  widow  Avinger's,  had  not 
yet  missed  the  presence  of  'Bram,  the  scout.  His  roving  com 
mission  so  authorized  his  coming  and  going,  without  beat  of 
drum,  so  justified  his  prolonged  absences,  that,  unless  with  some 
special  reason,  his  disappearances '  occasioned  no  apprehension. 
He  was  regarded  as  one  of  those  persons  who  can  always  take 
care  of  themselves,  and  for  whom  nobody  feels  any  anxiety. 
Twenty -four  hours  therefore,  "passing,  in  which  he  does  not  pre 
sent  himself,  only  led  to  the  conviction  that  he  was  making 
profitable  discoveries  elsewhere.  Meanwhile,  our  baron  of  Sin 
clair  was  recovering  his  insolent  strength.  He  could  now  swing 
his  leg  of  his  own  will,  and  without  succor,  off  and  on  his  cush 
ions;  he  talked  more  freely;  laughed;  made  merry  with  the 
widow,  and  jested  with  Mrs.  Travis,  still  as  Mrs.  Smith,  as  if 
she  were  a  widow  also;  never  heeding  the  grave  visage  with 
which  she  entertained  his  jibes,  nor  the  sly,  significant  glances 
with  which  Carrie  looked  to  Bertha,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two 
girls  smiled  in  mute  converse  together.  He  kept  them  singing 
for  him  when  he  could.  He  wras  fond  of  music,  and  taxed  their 
frequent  practice  in  this  exquisite  domestic  accomplishment. 
He  was  fortunately  quite  good-humored  in  the  exercise  of  his 
growing  strength;  and,  speaking  in  the  language  of  his  recov 
ered  authority,  his  despotism  was  yet  of  an  affectionate  order. 
He  chucked  Bertha  Travis  under  the  chin,  drew  her  to  him  and 
kissed  her  between  the  eyes ;  swore  she  was  quite  too  fine  a 
girl  for  any  of  the  Smith  family,  vowed  that  he  wished  he  were 
again  a  young  man  for  her  sake,  and  never  once  heeding  the 
awkward  constraint  which  her  manner  exhibited,  or  disposed 
to  ascribe  it  to  the  modesty  peculiar  to  the  Smith  family,  he 
exhibited  such  a  fondness  for  the  girl,  such  a  cordial  regard  for 
her  as,  under  other  circumstances,  it  would  have  been  eminently 
her  anxiety  to  inspire  in  the  bosom  of  her  lover's  father.  His 


146  EDTAW. 

improving  condition  naturally  led  to  the  determination  to  return 
at  once  to  the  Barony,  and  as  soon  as  possible ;  and  this  deter 
mination  just  as  naturally  brought  back  Bram  to  his  recollec 
tion.  He  was  the  proper  person  to  send  to  the  Barony  for 
horses.  Sam  was  too  timid  —  too  old  —  too  deficient  in  re 
sources. 

"  Who  has  seen  that  rascal  Bram  for  the  last  two  days  1 
He  is  never  here  when  wanted.  Willie  has  ruined  the  fel 
low.  He  has  now  such  conceit  of  his  abilities  as  a  scout,  that 
he  fancies  it  a  sort  of  abuse  of  his  talents  to  be  put  to  any  other 
duties.  He  will  get  knocked  upon  the  head,  some  of  these  days, 
with  all  his  cleverness,  and  go  the  way  of  all  that  race  ol  fools 
whose  mere  vanity  leads  into  danger  from  which  their  valor 
would  be  apt  to  shrink.  Now,  he  is  the  only  fellow  whom  I 
can  safely  venture  to  send  up  t<f  the  plantation.  Sam  would 
poke  along,  never  using  ears  or  eyes,  and  be  sure  to  be  gobbled 
np  and  carried  off  by  some  of  these  refugee  rascals.  Do,  my 
dear  little  Smith"  —  Bertha  was  the  only  person  present  wh<5L 
this  soliloquy  was  spoken  —  "  do,  my  dear  little  Smith,  prettiest 
and  sweetest  of  all  possible  Smiths  —  do  summon  Sam,  and  see 
if  he  knows  anything  of  'Bram !" 

But  Sam  could  only  answer,  non  mi  ricordo — that  is,  "  I  ^ftb 
ber  knows,  maussa,  whay  'Bram  day." 

"  Get  out  of  my  sight,  old  terrapin !  You  never  know  any 
thing." 

The  expression  of  the  baron's  purpose,  to  take  his  departure 
as  soon  as  he  could  get  his  horses  down  from  the  plantation, 
naturally  led  to  Mrs.  Travis's  avowal  of  her  own  intention  to 
depart  very  soon  also. 

"  But  why,  my  dear  madam,  will  you  go  before  I  do  ?  Anr 
where  do  you  mean  to  go  ?" 

"  Across  the  Santse,  to  my  sister  near  the  '  Hills.'  " 

M  Ah  !  you  ha^e  a  si&t,er  near  the  '  Hills'  ?  But,  will  you  nol 
IT.  .jnr-^any  Carrie  and  myself  to  the  barony,  and  stay  a  while 
with  us — stay,  at  least,  until  you  can  be  better  sure  of  the 
safety  of  the  road  ?  We  must  have  yo  .  with  us  for  a  while- 
my  dear  Mrs.  Smith.  I  can't  do  without  my  little  Smith  pet- 
ling  here.  I  must  see  more  of  ber.  I  can't  part  with  her  so 
fioo.i ;  acd,  if  there  be  no  pressing  necessity  carrying  you  across 


THE  TIGER   RAGES   IN   THE   SHEEP-COTE.  447 


the  Santee,  then  I  must  insist  upon  taking  you  both  captive,  for  a 
week  or  two,  at  all  events." 

''Thank  you,  Colonel  Sinclair;  we  are  very  grateful,  and  should 
like  nothing  better  at  some  other  season;  but,  just  now,  there  is  a 
pressing  necessity.  There  are,  indeed,  some  serious  cares  overhang 
ing  me  at  this  juncture,  and  the  time  already  lost  by  our  forced  delay 
has  added  to  them." 

"Serious  cares!  I  hope  not.  What  have  women  to  do  with  cares? 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mrs.  Smith?  Don't  be  shy,  now,  in 
speaking.  Say  the  word.  Let  me  know  in  what  way  I  can  serve 
you,  and,  believe  me,  I  shall  prefer  to  deny  myself  than  deny  you. 
You  have  done  a  good  service  to  my  children  and  myself.  You  have 
succored  me  in  my  sufferings,  and  they  have  been  great.  I  dc 
believe,  but  for  your  assistance,  your  own  and  your  daughter's 
nursing,  I  should  have  died.  Now,  let  me  show  myself  grateful. 
I  don't  mean  to  show  myself  restiff  under  obligations  which  I  can 
not  requite;  for  where  the  gratitude  really  exists,  the  obligation  is 
already  satisfied;  but  I  wish  you  to  afford  me  some  opportunity 
of  serving  those  whom  I  love  and  honor.  Let  me  know  what  sort 
of  cares  are  these  which  trouble  you,  that  I  may  help  you  as  I 
can." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  dear  Colonel  Sinclair,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  if  you  could,  in  any  way,  help  me,  I  should  not  for  a  moment 
pause  to  show  you  how  it  might  be  done." 

"That's  right,  my  dear  madam;  that's  the  right  spirit.  But  how 
do  you  know  that  I  can  not  help  you?  I  have  wealth — 

"  In  that  respect,  Colonel  Sinclair,  we  suffer  no  want," 

"Nay,  do  not  think  me  so  impertinent,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smith, 
as  to — " 

And  our  baron  felt  an  unusual  awkwardness  in  finishing  the  sen 
tence.  The  lady  came  to  his  relief: — 

"A  few  words,  dear  Colonel  Sinclair,  will  save  further  speech  on 
this  topic.  My  anxieties,  and  those  of  my  daughter,  do  not  arise 
from  any  pecuniary  difficulties.  They  result  rather  from  the  condi 
tion  of  the  country,  and  from  some  painful  relations  which  affect 
a  very  dear  portion  of  our  family.  But  these  things  are  of  a  nature 
which  do  not  suffer  me  to  speak  of  them  at  present.  We  are 
unfortunate,  but  not  poor;  anxious  and  suffering,  but  hopeful, 


448  EUTAW. 

and  not  conscious  of  any  undesert;  we  are  fugitives,  but  only 
because  we  are  wronged:  in  brief,  my  dear  colonel,  there  is  a 
mystery  about  our  house,  at  this  moment,  which  I  am  not  allowed 
to  unveil  even  to  the  eyes  of  one  whom  I  so  much  honor  and 
esteem  as  Colonel  Sinclair.  Let  this  suffice.  You  shall  be  the 
first  to  know  the  truth,  hereafter,  whenever  it  shall  be  safe  and 
proper  to  take  off  the  seal  from  our  mystery;  and  I  promise  you 
that,  when  I  may  need  such  service  as  you  can  bestow,  I  shall  deem 
it  a  duty  which  I  owe  to  your  generous  offer  to  seek  you  out  among 
the  first." 

"  That's  right,  ma'am.  That's  what  I  like,  and  I  thank  you,  and 
shall  remember  this  promise.  I  don't  feel  toward  you  and  your 
daughter,  Mrs.  Smith,  as  if  we  were  strangers.  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  have  known  you  both,  Heaven  knows  how  long.  You  are  both 
as  natural  to  my  thoughts  and  heart  as  if  you  had  served  in  the 
training  of  both.  As  for  that  girl  of  yours — but  where  the  deuce 
does  she  keep?  I  have  not  seen  her  since  dinner,  nor  Carrie 
either. " 

Here  little  Lottie  Sinclair,  who  had  just  entered  the  room,  an 
swered:  "They  went  out  to  walk,  papa,  and  sis  wouldn't  let  me  go 
with  'em.  I  wonder  why?" 

"Went  out  to  walk,  and  not  home  yet?  Why,  it's  dark!  Cer 
tainly,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  these  damsels  are  a  little  too  adventurous. 
I  hope  they  have  not  wandered  far." 

Mrs.  Avinger  here  made  her  appearance  with  a  light. 

"Have  the  girls  come  in,  Mrs.  Avinger?"  was  the  query  of  Mrs. 
Travis. 

"Not  yet,"  was  the  reply,  in  subdued  and  grave  accents.  Her 
tones  struck  Mrs.  Travis.  She  drew  the  widow  out  of  the  room,  and 
said — 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  Mrs.  Avinger?" 

"I  hope  not,"  was  the  answer,  "but  it  is  now  quite  dark,  and  I 
confess  to  being  a  little  uneasy  about  the  girls.  They  should  not 
have  gone  far.  I  warned  them  not  to  do  so;  and  they  should  not 
have  stayed  so  late.  They  may  have  wandered  down  to  Cedar 
creek,  and  in  their  chat  have  not  observed  the  lateness  of  the 
hour." 

"  We  must  send  after  them." 

"  I  have  already  despatched  Cato  and  Sam." 


THE   VtTLTUKE    CARRIES    OFF   THE   DOVE.  449 

An  hour  elapsed.  The  uneasiness  of  all  parties  increased. 
Colonel  Sinclair  was  particularly  restless.  It  was  found  impossible 
to  keep  the  matter  from  him,  and  he  was  chafing  with  his  fears  and 
impotence,  wThile  professing  to  have  no  apprehensions.  He  tried  to 
reassure  Mrs.  Travis,  alias  Smith. 

"  They  have  only  strolled  too  far,  and  are  tired.  It  is  the  case 
with  your  sex  always,  Mrs.  Smith.  They  never  calculate  time, 
space,  strength,  or  anything.  Women  do  not  possess  the  faculties 
of  calculation,  lacking  forethought.  You  are  all  butterflies,  with  a 
sort  of  summer  life  among  flowers.  But,  you  have  sent  to  look 
for  them.  Who  ?  Sam's  a  poke  and  a  blockhead.  I  know 
nothing  of  your  fellow  Cato,  Mrs.  Smith;  but  he  is  old,  and 
a  negro,  which  is  equal  to  saying  that  he  will  drowse  on  the 
edge  of  a  volcado  in  full  blast.  Where  the  d — 1  is  that  fellow 
'Brarn  ?  He  is  never  to  be  found  when  wanted.  Ah,  if  I  could  only 
mount  a  horse  !  " 

And  the  baron  groaned  and  writhed  between  his  fears  and 
his  imbecility.  An  hour  elapsed — and  such  an  hour  !  Mrs. 
Avinger  had  the  table  spread  for  supper,  but  nobody  ate,  no 
body  drank.  Mrs.  Travis  kept  up  a  continual  progress  from 
porch  to  chamber.  Sinclair,  meanwhile,  unable  to  move,  main 
tained  a  perpetual  soliloquy  of  contradictions.  All  the  parties 
had  reached  that  period  in  life  when  the  emotions  cease  to  cry 
aloud.  But  they  had  their  own  modes  of  speech,  nevertheless, 
in  the  case  of  each,  and  these  were  sufficiently  impressive  to  any 
observer. 

At  length,  and  when  this  suppressed  anxiety  seemed  to  be 
no  longer  endurable,  there  was  a  sound,  footsteps,  and  a  move- 
mens  from  without.  All  rushed  into  the  porch  except  our 
baron,  and  he  made  a  most  formidable  effort  to  move  also,  the 
attempt  ending  only  in  a  bitter  groan  from  the  equal  pain  in 
foot  and  heart.  The  next  moment  brought  in  Carrie  Sinclair, 
supported  by  the  two  old  ladies.  She  had  been  brought  home 
insensible  by  Cato  and  Sam.  She  was  totally  unable  to  sup 
port  herself.  They  had  found  her,  fully  a  mile  off,  prostrate  in 
the  woods,  seemingly  insensible  This  fict.  and  her  appear 
ance,  furnishes  a  sufficient  preface  to  a  fearful  history.  Her 
face  was  blackened  by  blows  and  bruises;  her  garments  torn 
and  covered  with  stains  of  the  soil ;  her  hair  was  freed  from  all 


rfUTAW. 

ties  and  combn,  disordered,  dishevelled,  covering  face,  neck, 
ihoulders.  She  had  evidently  gone  through  some  terrible  trial ; 
but,  for  the  moment,  she  was  incapable  of  speech.  She  could 
only  sob  convulsively.  Her  whole  nervoiw  system  seemed  to 
.  be  shattered. 

They  laid  her  down  upon  the  sofa,  and  applied  restoratives 
When  she  had  recovered,  her  first  sign  of  consciousness  was  to 
scream  for  "  Bertha  !" 

"  My  child  !  iny  child  !  what  of  my  child  ?"  cried  the  mother. 

"Who  is  Bertha?  Whut  does  she  mean?"  demanded  fhe 
eoloiip.l,  who  fancied  that  Carrie  was  delirious. 

"  Miss  Smith,"  whispered  the  widow  Avinger  in  the  ears  of 
the  baron. 

"  I  thought  her  name  was  Annie  !" 

But,  in  the  meantime,  Carrie  began  to  speak  somewhat  cohe 
rently  : — 

"  Where  is  she  1     Where  have  they  taken  her  V* 

"Who?  my  child!" 

"  Yes,  Bertha  !     She  is  carried  off  by  ruffians  from  the  woods." 

"0  God,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!  My  child!  —  carried 
off?  Why  —  by  whom  ?  Speak,  Carrie  Sinclair,  and  tell  me 
of  my  child!" 

"  Oh !  how  can  I  tell  yon  ?  I  know  nothing  more.  We 
were  suddenly  set  upon  by  ruffians  from  the  woods  —  four  01 
five  in  number  —  dark,  savage-looking  men  —  all  armed.  Thai 
horrid  creature  whom  you  called  Hell-fire  Dick  was  the  leader 
I  knew  him  at  a  glance.  They  tore  us  asunder.  They  draggec 
her  away.  T  followed.  I  clung  to  her.  I  strove  to  release 
her,  and  they  struck  me  down,  thrust  me  back,  put  a  man  to 
guard  me,  while  they  dragged  "her  off  to  their  horses.  We 
screamed,  but  no  one  came.  I  struggled  in  the  grasp  of  the 
.itrong  man,  and  see  my  condition.  He  smote  me  as  fiercely  as 
if  I  were  not  a  woman.  His  fist  felled  me  to  the  earth,  and  I 
knew  no  more,  until  I  found  myself  in  the  arms  of  the  ne 
groes." 

Her  appearance  amply  testified  to  the  severity  of  her  treat 
ment.  There  had  been  a  terrible  blow  planted  almost  between 
her  eyes.  They  were  bloodshot,  and  the  forehead  was  com 
pletely  blackened  by  the  .stroke.  Never  had  beautiful  young 


THE   VULTURE   CARRIES   OFF   THE    DOVE  451 

found  so  little  mercy  from  the  hands  of  man  before,  un 
less  when  murdered  outright. 

For  a  moment,  Colonel  Sinclair  was  erect,  on  his  feet.  "  Mj 
sword  !  my  pistols  !"  he  cried.  But  he  sank  back  into  the  seat 
a  moment  after.  His  passion  was  quelled  by  his  own  physical 
sufferings.  He  could  only  groan  and  writhe  in  the  mingled 
tortures  of  mental  and  physical  agony  —  could  only  rage  with 
impotent  fury  —  the  most  humiliating  of  all  kinds  of  conscious 
ness.  His  roar  of  pain  and  rage ;  the  convulsive  sobbings  of 
Carrie;  the  screams  of  little  Lottie,  who  beheld  the  defaced 
visage  of  her  sister  with  a  child-like  horror ;  the  clasped  hands 
arrd  the  tears  of  the  widow  Avinger;  these  were  evidences  of 
the  grief  and  terror  of  the  household ;  but  how  feeble,  in  com 
parison,  with  that  speechless  sense  of  wo  and  agony,  under 
which,  with  a  single  shriek  of  desolation,  the  mother  of  the  lost 
girl  sunk  down  upon  the  floor,  in  a  heap,  senseless  for  awhile — 
mercifully  so  for  the  relief  of  a  brain  already  overstrained  too 
much.  There  is  a  period  in  the  event  when  the  dramatic 
painter  judiciously  drops  his  curtain  over  the  scene.  We  mus( 
imitate  his  example. 


452  -  ETJTAW. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII. 

NELLIE    FLOYD   A    CAPTIVE. 

WE  scarcely  need  to  add  anything  to  the  narrative  of  Carrie 
Sinclair,  detailing  the  adventure  in  which  Bertha  Travis  had 
been  carried  off.  She,  perhaps,  did  not  dilate,  as  she  might 
have  done,  upon  her  own  desperate  efforts  to  resist  the  assail 
ants,  and  to  rescue  her  companion.  How,  forced  away,  she  yet 
broke  loose  from  the  rude  grasp  which  held  her  back;  darted 
upon  the  ruffians  who  were  lifting  Bertha  upon  horseback; 
ciung  to  her  like  a  maniac ;  was  beaten  down  ;  recovered ; 
renewed  her  efforts,  and  was  finally  torn  away,  and  put  under 
the  custody  of  one  of  the  outlaws,  to  keep  back,  while  the 
abduction  was  completed,  and  the  girl  caried  off.  How,  even 
then,  she  strove,  and  with  so  much  vigor,  as  to  provoke  the 
fellow  put  in  charge  of  her,  to  those  brutal  blows  which,  finally, 
left  her  insensible.  It  was  while  she  lay  in  this  condition  that 
the  ruffian  left  her,  and  made  off  after  his  associates.  Of  course, 
there  were  no  clues  to  the  route  which  they  had  taken. 

The  night  .was  one  of  a  sleepless  agony  with  all  the  little 
group  at  the  widow  Avinger's.  Of  the  poor  mother's  woe,  reft 
first  of  her  son  and  husband,  and  now  of.  her  daughter,  who 
shall  make  report?  The  blood  of  Carrie  Sinclair  wras  now 
burning  with  fever.  She  was  delirious!  Of  the  vain  fury  of 
the  baron;  his  rage  that  had  no  object ;  his  desperate  purpose 
of  strife,  which  lacked  all  power  of  exercise;  producing  a  men 
tal  conflict  which  was  almost  as  unendurable,  and  which  only 
served  to  bring  back  his  physical  sufferings,  it  is  impossible  to 
give  a  portrait ;  so  various  and  capricious  were  his  moods,  so 
utterly  bemocked  by  imbecility  were  all  his  rages. 

It  was  in  the  moment  of  storm  and  agony,  when  caution  was 


NELLIE    FLOYD   A   CAPTIVE.  453 

forgotten  in  suffering,  that  our  baron  was  suffered  to  know  the 
secret  of  Bertha  Travis  and  her  mother.  It  caihe  to  him  as  a  sur 
prise,  but  brought  with  it  no  revulsion. 

•'  What  does  she  call  her  ?    Is  she  not  Annie  Smith  ?" 

"No,  sir — no!"  cried  the  mother  vehemently,  as  she  heard. 
"I  am  a  Travis — no  Smith.  My  daughter  is  Bertha  Travis,  and 
the  affianced  of  your  own  son  ! " 

"Good  heavens!  How  is  this?  That  dear  little  girl,  my 
son's  affianced?  Oh,  Willie!  Poor  Willie!  Why  is  he  not 
here,  to  pursue,  recover  and  avenge  her  ?  What  the  d — 1  is  he 
about  that  he  is  not  here  ?  And  where  is  'Bram  ?  What  can 
that  rascal  be  doing  ?  pretending  to  scout,  and  keep  guard  and 
watch,  yet  here  the  wolf  boldly  rushes  into  the  fold,  and  carries 
off  the  innocent  flock.  But  I  can  still  mount  a  horse  !  I  will 
make  the  effort.  Sam  shall  help  me !  Once  mounted,  I  shall 
be  able  to  keep  my  seat.  I  will  try  it !  I  will  ride !  Summon 
Sam  to  me.  He  shall  have  my  horse  ready.  Get  me  my 
pistols.  And  my  sword.  They  shall  find,  the  bloody,  blasted 
wretches,  that  I  am  still  strong  enough  to  smite  and  slay  ! " 

Of  course,  all  this  ended  in  exhaustion.  The  brave  old  man 
was  shattered  in  frame.  His  physique  was  inadequate  to  the 
feeblest  demonstration  of  his  gallant  spirit, 

The  absence  of  'Bram  happened  to  be  commented  upon  in  his 
presence,  by  Mrs.  Avinger. 

"Ay  !  he  is  caught  up  too,  by  these  rascals!  He  is  in  their 
hands.  They  are,  no  doubt,  bearing  him  away  to  the  West 
India  plantations.  The  bullhead  !  blockhead  !  with  his  conceit, 
to  suffer  himself  to  be  taken  prisoner  by  these  wretches,  and, 
no  doubt,  without  ever  striking  a  blow — without  blowing  out  a 
single  villain's  brains,  or  cutting  the  throat  of  one  gallows-bird 
of  all  the  gang  !  And  yet,  the  scoundrel  has  pistols,  and  knife 
— prides  himself  upon  them — swears  to  do  famous  things  with 
'em,  yet  he  lets  himself  be  kicked  and  cuffed,  and  hand-cuffed,  and 
driven  off,  like  a  sheep  to  the  shambles,  without  ever  striking  a 
blow  ! " 

It  was  thus  that  the  fancies  of  our  furious  baron  furnished 
him  with  his  facts.  Yet  they  were  not  very  wide  from  the  truth. 
But  he  does  not  give  'Bram  sufficient  credit  for  resources  as  we 
shall  perceive  hereafter. 


454  EUTAW. 

Tims,  then,  without  a  single  clue  to  the  route  taken  by  the 
outlaws,  •  and  reduced  to  utter  despair,  from  a  total  deficiency  of 
resource,  our  little  circle  at  the  widow's  house  of  refuge — 
which  has  proved  of  so  little  security — must  be  left,  for  the  present, 
to  the  endurance,  with  whatever  strength  they  may  command, 
of  the  evils  and  sorrows  for  which  they  can  see  no  remedy.  Let 
us  leaving  them  for  awhile,  look  after  those  persons  who  have  been 
vainly  looking  sifter  our  friends. 

We  have  seen  the  scout,  Ballon,  chased  out  of  sight,  by  some 
of  the  best  troopers  of  Inglehardt's  squad.  They  drove  him 
across  the  Edisto  into  the  Fork.  His  escape  was  a  narrow  one. 
Pushing  upward,  and  resolved  to  make  his  way  even  across  the 
Congaree  and  Wateree,  till  he  should,  find  Sinclair,  or  procure 
a  force  sufficient  to  penetrate  and  thoroughly  search  the  swamp 
intricacies  of  Muddicoat  Castle,  he  sped  on,  and,  to  his  great 
relief,  found  his  superior  very  soon  after  his  passage  of  the 
river.  He  made  his  report,  and  the  whole  party  proceeded 
downward.  A  sharp  skirmish  with  a  mounted  sqiiad  of  the 
British,  in  which  the  latter  were  dispersed,  did  not  lead  Sinclair 
lo  anticipate  what,  in  four  hours  after,  he  found  to  be  the  case  ; 
that  Colonel  Stewart,  with  the  whole  British  army,  was  then 
actually  on  the  march  toward  him,  making  rapid  progress  on  the 
route  to  M 'Cord's  Ferry.  What  could  this  argue,  but  the  determi- 
nation  of  the  British  commander  to  seek  out  Greene  and  force 
him  to  Hie  final  issue  of  battle. 

ISelieving  Greene  to  be  unprepared  for  this,  and  supposing  it 
possible,  from  the  rapidity  and  secrecy  of  Stewart's  movements, 
that  lie  might,  succeed  in  surprising  the  American  general  in 
very  disadvantageous  circumstances,  Sinclair,  with  a  groan,  was 
compelled,  for  the  moment,  to  forego  his  personal  objects,  throw 
himself  in  the  path  of  the  enemy,  and,  keeping  in  advance  of 
him,  harass  and  retard  his  movements,  while  he  took  occasion 
to  report  them  fully  at  the  American  camp.  This  was  done 
until  Stewart  had  taken  post  at  M'Cord's,  on  the  south  side, 
where,  though  with  two  rivers  between,  the  two  armies  lay 
almost  in  sight  of  each  other's  fires.  Sinclair,  meanwhile,  sped 
across,  and  made  his  report  to  Greene.  Here  he  received 
orders  to  go  below,  and  join  Marion  with  all  haste;  that  parti 
san  being  about  to  undertake  one  of  those  secret  expeditions, 


NELLY  FLOYD  A  CAPTIVE.  455 

in  which  his  celerity  and  skill  were  usually  so  famous  and  so  pro 
ductive  of  profitable  results. 

This  expedition  of  Marion  was  to  Pon-pon  river,  at  the  southward, 
where  Colonel  Harden,  to  whom  the  military  charge  of  this  precinct 
was  confided,  was  hardly  pressed  by  a  British  force  of  five  hundred 
men,  chiefly  loyalists  from  Charleston.  These  were  some  of  the 
people  driven  from  the  Ninety-six  district.  Their  active  services 
were  now  compelled,  somewhat  reluctantly,  by  the  necessities  of 
their  starving  families,  from  whom  the  British  commandant  had 
threatened  to  withdraw  their  rations,  unless  the  men  should  instantly 
take  the  field.  The  royal  exigency  was  such,  that  the  British  gen 
erals  could  be  no  longer  tolerant.  This  detachment  was  led  by 
Major  Frazer. 

By  a  forced  march  Marion  crossed  the  country  from  St. 
Stephen's  to  the  Edisto,  a  distance  of  a  hundred  miles,  passing 
secretly  between  both  lines  of  British  posts,  which  kept  up  their 
intercourse  with  Charleston,  and  succeeded  in  joining  Harden  before 
his  presence  could  be  suspected  by  the  enemy,  for  whom  he  planted 
an  ambush  along  the  swamps  near  Parker's  ferry,  sent  out  our  squad 
of  St.  Julien's,  as  a  decoying  body,  beguiled  Frazer  into  his  snares, 
and  gave  him  a  severe  handling,  cutting  up  his  horse  completely. 
But  that  his  ammunition  gave  out,  he  would  have  annihilated  the 
wrhole  detachment. 

This  work  was  thus  effectually  done,  and  our  Swamp  Fox  had 
reached  his  old  position  on  the  Santee,  in  the  short  space  of  six 
days. 

But  these  six  days  were  lost  to  Sinclair  in  his  search  after  his 
friends,  who  still  lay  in  seemingly  hopeless  captivity.  And  he  was 
doomed  to  a  still  longer  denial  of  his  objects. 

We  return  to  the  operations  of  the  main  armies.  It  is  prob 
able  that  Sinclair  had  mistaken  Stewart's  intentions,  in  moving 
toward  the  Congaree  in  the  face  of  the  Americans.  Though  his 
army  had  recruited  somewhat,  and  had  been  strengthened  in 
numbers,  and  by  supplies,  it  was  yet  in  no  condition  to  be  audacious 
or  enterprising.  It  still  labored  under  a  woful  deficiency  of 
cavalry. 

Stewart  had  one  good  reason  for  leaving  Orangeburg, 
and  seeking  a  more  favorable  camp-ground,  lie  was,  in  fact, 
starved  out.  His  foragers,  even  such  wily  strategists  as  our 


456  EUTAW. 

Captain  Inglehardt,  failed  to  provide  the  adequate  rations.  The 
American  partisans  were  either  in  the  way  all  the  time,  or  they 
had  swept  the  fields  in  advance  of  the  British  foragers.  The 
Congaree  country  was  supposed  to  promise  something  better, 
and  it  was  hoped  that  a  bold  face  put  upon  his  fortunes  would 
tend  somewhat  to  discourage  Greene,  who  would  naturally  suppose 
him  to  be  governed,  in  his  demonstration,  by  a  perfect  confi 
dence  in  his  strength.  Something  of  the  venerable  British  games 
of  brag  and  bully,  were,  no  doubt,  contemplated  by  the  British 
general. 

But  the  Congaree  country  had  been  reaped  already  by  the 
sharp  sickles  of  Sumpter's  and  Marion's  partisans.  Stewart  found 
as  little  good  feeding  there  as  upon  the  Edisto ;  while  Greene, 
not  willing  to  be  bullied,  struck  his  tents,  flung  out  his  colors, 
and  put  his  army  in  motion  for  the  passage  of  the  rivers  which 
kept  him  from  his  foe.  Ordering  his  scattered  detachments  to 
join  him  at  Howell's  ferry,  he  took  up  the  march  for  that 
place. 

This  movement  soon  prompted  our  British  general  to  a  change  of 
front  and  purpose.  By  forced  marches,  he  fell  back  upon  his  con 
voys  and  reinforcements,  taking  post  fully  forty  miles  below,  at  the 
Eutaw  springs.  This  brings  the  British  encampment  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  Widow  Avinger's — not  a  greater  number  from  Muddi- 
coat  Castle,  and  so,  accordingly,  within  the  immediate  sphere  of  our 
dramatis  persona. 

But  we  must  not  anticipate.  There  are  events  ripening,  yet  to 
mature,  in  this  very  precinct,  before  Stewart's  arrival.  Let  us  con 
sider  these,  in  due  order,  and  with  due  brevity. 

Marion,  as  we  have  seen,  has  got  back  to  the  Santee.  His 
immediate  duties  are  suspended.  Sinclair  procures  renewed 
leave  of  absence,  on  the  special  performances  for  the  prosecu 
tion  of  which  he  has  so  long  enjoyed  the  peculiar  license  of 
Kutledge.  He  has  incidental  military  commissions  grafted  upon 
his  personal  objects,  thus  securing  for  them  a  military  sanction, 
He  is  to  feel  the  strength  of  the  British  posts  at  Pooshee  and 
Wantoot.  These,  with  Mouck's  corner,  Biggin,  Fairlawn,  and 
Mulberry  Castle,  constitue  a  line  of  mutually-depending  British 
posts,  connecting  the  main  army  under  Stewart  directly  with 
the  garrison  at  Charleston.  But  these  posts  may  be  isolated, 


NELLY    FLOYD    A    CAPTIVE.  457 

and  conquered  in  detail ;  and  for  this  duty,  in  respect  to  Pooshee 
and  Wantoot,  Sinclair  has  his  commission. 

We  find  him,  with  St.  Julien's  troop,  one  fine  day  in  August, 
bright  and  not  too  hot,  in  the  shady  pine-forests,  some  four  miles 
from  Eutaw.  His  squad  is  "nooning."  Suddenly  there  is  a  stir. 
But  it  is  the  return  of  a  scouting-party,  led  by  Jim  Ballou.  He 
brings  with  him  a  prisoner,  taken  not  a  mile  from  camp.  He 
brings  with  him  also  an  old  acquaintance,  just  escaped  the  clutches 
of  the  land-pirates. 

The  prisoner  is  Nelly  Floyd.  The  escaped  fugitive  is  the  negro 
'Brain. 

We  need  not  say  that  'Bram  was  delighted  to  regain  his  master, 
but  his  story  we  must  reserve  to  another  opportunity.  At  present 
we  owe  all  our  regards  to  the  strange  girl  who,  hitherto,  has  been  so 
successful  in  eluding  captivity.  We  see  that,  seer  as  she  is,  dexterous 
and  light  of  foot,  swift  on  horseback,  and  a  marvelous  woodman, 
she  is  caught  at  last!  In  the  end,  the  Fates  show  themselves  to  have 
few  real  favorites. 

She  had  been  caught,  emerging  from  the  woods,  Ballou  hav 
ing  absolutely  run  down  her  little  pony — literally,  by  running 
upon  him  with  his  big-limbed  Virginia  turfite.  The  poor  little 
pony  had  actually  been  thrust  to  the  ground.  Nelly  would  not 
have  been  taken  —  would  have  seen  the  approaching  party  — 
but  for  a  strange  stupor  which  seemed  to  possess  her  senses, 
making  her,  for  the  time,  oblivious  of  all  external  objects.  We 
shall  see  hereafter  why  she  was  thus  seized  with  this  unwonted 
stupor. 

Her  appearance  compelled  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  Sinclair. 
Where  had  he  seen  her  before  ?  Somewhere  ;  but,  certainly,  wear 
ing-no  such  expression —  in  no  such  attitude  —  as  she  now  exhibited 
before  him.  She  looked  now,  for  all  the  world,  like  the  mad  girl  — 
the  "Harricane  Nell"  —  whom  they  sometimes  called  her.  She 
was  pale,  haggard,  her  eyes  dilating  wildly,  more  than  ever;  her 
movements  unnaturally  eager,  nervous,  spasmodic  and  totally  unin 
fluenced  by  surrounding  objects  and  occurring  events.  She  had 
not  listened  to  Ballou's  statements  without  frequent  interruptions 
and  ejaculations  x- 

"  If  you  be  a  man  and  a  gentleman,"  she  exclaimed  to  Sin 
clair,  seeing  him  in  command,  "release  me  !  What  business  is 

20 


458  EUTAW. 

this,  which  employs  an  army  to  seize  and  bear  away  a  woman?  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  " 

"A  mighty  wild  sort  of  woman!"  said  Ballou,  with  a  chuckle. 
The  girl  gave  him  but  a  glance,  and  turned  from  him  to  Sin 
clair. 

"What  girl  is  this?"  demanded  Sinclair,  "and  why  have  you 
brought  her  here  ?  " 

"  She  is  one  of  Inglehardt's  gang  of  outlaws,  that  have  Captain 
Travis  and  his  son  in  keeping.  She  knows  the  secret  passage  to  their 
hiding-place." 

"It  is  false!  I  am  connected  with  no  gang  of  outlaws  —  with 
no  gang  of  any  sort,  I  am  neither  an  outlaw  myself  nor  do  I  give 
help  or  countenance  to  those  who  are  so.  I  do  nobody  any  harm. 
I  help  the  suffering  wherever  I  can.  If  you  be  Colonel  Sin 
clair,  as  I  believe,  I  have  risked  my  life  to  help  and  rescue 
from  the  outlaws,  two  ladies  in  whom,  I  am  told,  you  have 
an  interest." 

"Ha!  two  ladies,  in  the  hands  of  outlaws?  Where?  when? 
what  ladies  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Travis  and  her  daughter  !  " 

"  And  they  are  in  the  hands  of  outlaws  ?  " 

"Not  now!  I  helped  to  rescue  them.  I  was  wounded  in  the 
attempt  to  do  so.  We  were  all  saved  by  Lord  Rawdon  with  a 
British  escort,  and  carried  to  your  father's  barony." 

"  What !  Bertha  at  the  baronj7  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  her  mother,  and  myself.  I  was,  for  several  days 
nursed  kindly,  and  my  wound  dressed,  by  your  sister  Carrie." 

"Wonder  upon  wonder!"  And  my  father  saw  Bertha  Travis  ! 
And  wrhere,  my  good  girl,  are  they  now  !  —  not  at  the  barony?" 

Here  'Bram  interposed.  He  could  supply  the  defects  in  Nelly's 
testimony. 

' '  Nebbcr,  sah  !  Day  leff  de  barony  de  same  day.  Day's  ycr, 
not  tree,  fibe,  seben  mile  off,  at  de  widow  Abinger's.  I  leff  'em  day, 
all  safe,  when  I  bin  go  out  'pon  a  scout,  and  bin  catch  by  Hell-fire 
Dick.  I  hope  Hell  hab  twenty-seben  fire  and  blazes  for  de  'tarnal 
varmint ! "  ^. 

Do  not  suppose  that  'Bram  stopped  here.  But  we  abridge 
h,is  long  speech  to  our  dimensions.  It  hacl  the  effect  of  reliev- 


NELLY  FLOYD  A  CAPTIVE.  459 

ing  Sinclair's  worst  apprehensions,  and  of  deceiving  him,  too  for,  as 
'Brain  knew  nothing  of  the  subsequent  abduction  of  Bertha  Travis, 
so  he  confidently  assured  his  master  that  she  was  in  safety  still  at  the 
widow's. 

But  Nelly  Floyd  had  not  listened  to  'Brain's  harrangue  with  the 
degree  of  patience  his  other  hearers  manifested.  She  broke  out  into 
occasional  exclamations,  and  exhibited  paroxysms  of  distress,  which, 
to  most  of  the  party  seemed  unaccountable. 

"  What  is  all  this  to  me?  Why  am  I  kept?  What  have  I  to  do 
with  it?  Pray,  sir — pray,  let  me  depart.  I  am  no  offender;  but  a 
poor  girl,  troubling  nobody,  and  seeking  only  to  save  others  from 
trouble !  Will  you  not  let  me  go  ? " 

Such'  were  the  speeches  with  which  she  frequently  broke  in 
upon  the  tedious  and  self-complacent  narratives  of  the  negro — 
her  restiffness  momently  increasing,  until  it  rose  into  such  an 
expression  of  real  agony  as  necessarily  to  compel  the  attention 
of  her  auditors.  It  was  not  fear  for  herself.  She  seemeed  to 
entertain  no  feeling  of  the  sort.  Her  tones  were  as  bold,  free, 
unembarrassed,  almost  masculine,  even  when  the  language  was 
that  of  entreaty,  as  if  she  possessed  the  will  to  decree  and  execute.  In 
the  meanwhile,  Sinclair  and  St.  Julien  were  both  observing  her 
closely. 

"  My  good  girl,"  said  Sinclair,  "  who  are  you?  " 

"  I  am  a  girl,  and  that  should  save  me  from  insult  among 
men;  a  woman,  and  that  should  protect  me  from  the  perils  of  a 
soldiery!  I  am  peaceful,  and  do  not,  of  right,  incur  any  of  the 
penalties  of  war.  I  arn  neither  ashamed  nor  afraid  to  tell  who 
I  am;  but  I  know  not  any  right,  of  colonel  or  general,  to  seize 
upon  me,  simply  riding  the  highway,  divert  me  from  my  duties 
— no  matter  what  the  loss  or  peril  to  myself — for  the  mere 
purpose  of  questioning  me  about  such  unimportant  matters. 
My  name  is  Ellen  Floyd,  and  I  am  an  orphan — another  consid 
eration  which  should  secure  me  the  protection  and  not  subject  me 
to  the  ill-usage  of  men  wearing  the  sword  and  epaulettes  of 
soldiers  and  gentlemen,  and  professing  to  fight  for  the  liberties  of  the 
citizen."  f 

"You  are  sharp,  my  good  girl;  but  you  do  us  injustice.  We 
have  no  disposition  to  detain  you,  but  it  is  charged  that  you 
are  connected  with  a  band  of  outlaws,  who  have  been  guilty  of 


460  EUTAW. 

great  outrages  upon  the  country,  and  have,  even  now,  some  of  our 
free  citizens  in  a  grevious  bondage.'' 

"I  have  alrealy  answered  you  on  this  point.  The  man  lies! 
I  am  connected  with  no  band  of  outlaws.  Prove  it  and  slay, 
me!  But  do  not  take  the  mere  guessing  of  a  scout  for  evi 
dence." 

"  What  say  you,  Ballou?  " 

"  Well,  I  found  her  among  the  outlaws." 

"  False!    You  did  not!  " 

"  You  was  harboring  about  them." 

"  So  were  you!" 

"  Well,  that's  true;  but  I  was  harboring  to  find  out  the 
hiding-place  of  the  rascals,  and  to  get  out  a  person  from  their 
clutches. " 

"So  was  I!" 

"Well,  that's  a  pretty  story!  And  what  could  you,  a  wo 
man — and  a  little  one  at  that — what  could  you  do  toward  get 
ting  out  a  prisoner  from  the  clutches  of  Inglehardt  and  Hell-fire 
Dick?" 

"I  could  risk  my  life — nay,  have  done  it — have  ciept  into 
their  hiding  places,  which  your  stupidity  failed  to  find,  or  your 
cowardice  dared  not  penetrate! — Sir,  do  not  confront  me  any 
longer  with  this  man!  You  hear  the  extent  of  his  charge.  He 
found  me  in  a  like  position  with  himself,  hovering  around  a 
camp  of  outlaws.  He  had  his  object,  I  mine!  I  was  no  more 
in  concert  with  them  than  he  himself!  Nay,  I  was  striving 
against  them.  He  laughs  at  my  efforts  and  powers.  What 
more  has  he  done?  Nay,  if  I  could  tell  all,  he  has  done  far 
less.  You,  as  gentlemen,  however,  are  better  able  to  tell  him 
what  even  a  woman  may  do,  when  resolved  by  justice,  and 
strengthened  by  faith,  purposing  nothing  but  good,  and  made 
earnest  in  her  cause  by  love!  The  mouse  gnawed  through  the 
nets  of  the  lion.  If  Mrs.  Travcrs  and  her  daughter  were  here, 
they  would  tell  you  that  I  have  had  the  knife  of  the  outlaw  at 
my  throat,  in  the  effort  to  rescue  them!  It  was  while  engaged 
in  a  similar  effort,  in  behalf  of  these  saine  ladies,  that  I  had  a 
bullet  shot  into  this  arm!  Sirs — gentlemen — let  me  go  in 
peace!  Believe  me,  I  am  not  connected  with  the^e,  or  any 
outlaws;  and  oh,  believe  me  further,  that  L'very  moment  which 


JSTELLY     FLOYD    A    CAPTIVE.  461 

I  now  lose  is  an  agony,  and  may  be  a  death  !  Life  and  death  depend 
upon  my  speed  and  freedom  at  this  moment." 

And  the  action  was  throughout  admirably  suited  to  the  high- 
spirited,  logical,  fearless,  ingenuous  speech ;  her  eye  kindling  and 
dilating  ;  her  lips  quivering  ^vith  emotion ;  her  arms,  hands,  the 
whole  frame,  seeming  to  speak  as  well  as  the  tongue  :  and  when  she 
spoke  her  scorn,  looking  at  Ballou,  her  expanding  nostril,  uplifted 
head,  and  the  mixed  indignation  and  contempt  which  she  expressed, 
were  clearly  discernible  in  every  gesture,  as  she  turned  away  from 
his  to  the  other  faces  in  the  group.  You  should  have  seen  her !  We 
have  said,  elsewhere,  that  she  was  not  pretty ;  and,  for  this  reason, 
that  the  word  wrould  have  been  a  disparagement  of  the  noble,  the 
lofty,  the  high-souled,  all-speaking  and  all-animated,  in  every 
feature  of  her  face.  Sinclair  looked  on  her  with  admiration  —  St . 
Julien  with  an  intense,  searching  eye,  which  seemed  to  be  riveted 
because  satisfied.  But  Ballou  was  unmoved.  He  had  been  stung 
by  her'  speech  of  him  ;  mortified  at  her  escape  from  him  on  a  former 
occasion  ;  vexed  with  the  reproach  wrhich  she  had  uttered,  of  his 
incompetence  at  the  very  craft  in  which  he  had  acquired  a  local 
fame  second  to  that  of  no  other  scout ;  and,  though  a  very  good 
fellow  as  the  world  goes,  such  as  the  world  is  very  full  of,  particu 
larly  in  good  society,  was  not  capable  of  a  very  magnanimous 
emotion,  at  his  own  expense,  and  which  would  involve  the  necessity 
of  a  tacit  admission  of  fault  as  well  as  failure. 

"  All  mighty  fine,"  quoth  he,  "but  ::11  pretty  much  pretence,  I'm 
thinking  !  If  you  let  her  off,  colonel,  before  she  shows  you  the  way 
to  that  den  of  thieves,  you'll  deserve  to  lose  your  chances.  She's 
among  'em,  I  tell  you  !  Make  her  confess  before  she  goes,  and  keep 
her  fast  till  she  does  so  ! " 

"Be  merciful,  gentlemen,  and  let  me  go,  even  if  you  do  not 
believe  me.  I  could  easily  disprove  all  that  this  bad  man  tells  you 
—  for  he  lies  -,  but  time  is  my  object.  Time,  now,  is  as  precious  to 
me  as  life.  Life  depends  upon  it.  There  is  one  whom  I  love  in  a 
a  dreadful  danger.  Let  me  go  !  Every  hour  now  is  needful  to  my 
purpose  —  and  to  his  safety  !  " 

"  But,  my  girl,  you  know  the  route  by  which  we  may  reach  the 
hiding-place  of  these  outlaws,"  said  Sinclair. 

"I  know  nothing  —  I  can  know  nothing — will  know  nothing, 


462  EUTAW. 

now!  I  tell  you  that  a  precious  life  depends  upon  these  minutes,  and 
you  talk  to  me  of  your  affairs.  AVhat  are  your  affairs  to  me? 
'What  claim  have  they,  or  you,  upon  me,  that  you  arrest  me, 
to  do  your  work,  and  keep  me  from  the  duties  in  which 
I  may  save  a  life  which  is  precious  to  my  own  !  I  can  not  think  of 
anything  now,  but  the  one  cry  which  sounds  through  the  forests  in 
my  ears  !  a  cry  of  agony — which  bids  me  speed  —  speed  —  and  save 
from  a  cruel  death  the  life  of  a  beloved  one  ! " 

And  she  wrung  her  hands  bittterly,  and  threw  them  up  to  heaven 
wildly. 

' '  But  who  is  this  who  is  so  precious  to  you,  and  whom  you  are  to 
succor  ?  " 

"O  God!  this  is  the  wisdom  and  the  magnanimity  of  man! 
At  a  moment  like  this,  he  would  keep  me  back  to  know  whether 
it  is  mother,  father,  brother,  sister,  who  is  perishing  for  a  cup 
of  water,  and  shrieking  to  me  for  help  !  My  house  is  on  fire, 
and  he  would  keep  me  from  putting  out  the  blaze,  till  he-  knows 
whether  the  fire  caught  from  the  chimney  or  the  cellar  !  God 
be  merciful  to  me !  Sir  —  do  I  look  like  a  liar  ?  Suppose  that 
I  speak  the  truth,  and  what  sort  of  a  heart  can  you  have,  that  can 
so  trifle  with  a  human  being's  griefs  and  agonies  !  Here,  before 
God,  I  swear  that  your  scout  speaks  falsely  !  I  do  not  harbor 
with  outlaws.  I  have  no  connection  with  these » you  seek.  I 
have  harbored  about  them,  it  is  true,  as  he  has  done,  seeking  to 
rescue  one  victim  from  their  talons  !  The  eye  of  God  is  upon 
us  now.  Do  you  believe  that?  Then  believe  me  when  I  ap 
peal  to  him.  I  swear,"  —  and  she  dropped  upon  her  knees  — 
"God  of  the  bright  world,  and  the  dark,  attest  my  truth  !  —  Oh! 
how  can  you,  officers  and  gentlemen,  as  you  are,  or  claim  to  be, 
require  this  of  a  young  girl  like  me,  as  if  I  had  no  faith,  no  truth, 
no  heart  to  suffer  like  your  own  !  " 

"  For  God's  sake,  Willie,  let  her  go  !  She  is  as  truthful  as  an 
angel ! "  so  spoke  St.  Julien,  sotto  wee,  even  in  the  moment  when 
Sinclair  cried  out  aloud  : — 

"My  good  girl,  you  are  free  to  depart!  God  forbid  that  I 
should  keep  you  for  a  moment,  to  ycrsr  own  hurt,  or  to  the 
suffering  of  another !  It  must  be  my  plea,  for  having  de 
tained  jcou  so  long,  that  my  own  most  precious  ones  are  in  dan- 


NELLY    FLOYD    A    CAPTIVE. 

ger,  also,  and  you  are  thought  to  be  able  to  help  me  to  discover 
them.  But  go  !  go  ! — I  am  sorry  that  you  were  arrested.  I  shall 
feel  deeply  if  you  are  too  late  ! " 

"Oh  !  thanks  !  thanks  ! "  cried  the  girl,  the  tears  now  for  the  first 
time  gushing  from  her  eyes ;  and  she  darted  to  her  horse,  and  at  a 
bound  was  upon  his  back  ;  then,  as  she  bent  to  the  saddle,  and  gave 
her  steed  the  reins,  she  waved  her  hand  to  the  two  officers — "  Thanks, 
gentlemen,  thanks  !•  I  shall  not  forget  you.  I  will  try  and  help  you, 
hereafter — but  now  !  now  !  It  is  impossible  !  I  am  called  !  It  is  life 
or  death  !  I  must  go  !  go  !  " 

She  was  off  in  another  moment,  like  the  wind — out  of  sight,  like 
a  sudden  arrow  from  the  Egyptian  bow. 


464  EUTAW. 


CHAPTEE    XXXVIII. 

WILLIE  SINCLAIR'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  FATHER. 

FOR  the  first  few  moments  after  the  disappearance  of  Nelly 
Floyd,  a  feeling  of  wonder  and  admiration,  if  not  awe,  overspread. 
the  little  circle,  and  hung  like  a  cloudy  spell  upon  the  senses 
of  all. 

"What  an  astonishing  creature!"  cried  Sinclair.  "Did  she 
drop  from  the  clouds  ?  " 

"  There  is  certainly  some  curious  mystery  about  her,  an 
swered  St.  Julien.  Such  a  wonderful  mingling  of  rudeness  and 
refinement,  simplicity  of  manner  and  high  tone  of  character,  is 
exceedingly  rare.  It  shows  superiority  of  endowment,  with  a  cer 
tain  peculiar  piquancy  of  training,  or  nature  has  executed  one  of  her 
marvels." 

' '  What  an  eye  she  has  !  so  large,  dewy,  and  dilating,  yet  fiery ; 
and  how  animated  the  expression  of  her  face  !  How  every  muscle 
seems  to  speak.  I  have  certainly  met  her  somewhere  before.  The 
mere  features  strike  me  as  familiar." 

"Yes,  do  you  not  remember;  at  the  house  of  the  old  woman, 
Ford,  whither  we  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Travis  and  her 
daughter  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes;  now  I  remember!  But  then  she  was  silent,  and 
there  was  none  of  that  fiery  enthusiasm  which  she  has  just  ex 
hibited.  Either  she  is  an  angel,  or  the  subtlest  counterfeit  that 
ever  knew  how  to  put  on  the  guise  of  virtue,  and  warm  it  with  the 
fires  of  zeal." 

"She  is  an  angel!"  said  St.  Julien.  "There  is  no  trick  about 
her.  Cunning  could  never  rise  to  that  altitude.  She  is,  in  brief, 
a  wonder." 


7ILLIE  SINCLAIR'S    VISIT   TO    HIS   FATHER.  46c 

4 1  re<kon  ebe's  nothing  better  than  a  cunning  gipsy,"  quoth 
fiallou, "  artful  as  the  d— 1,  and  full  of  all  sorts  of  mischief.  I've 
seen  a  good  many  of  that  class  of  people." 

"  You've  been  more  fortunate  thaii  other  people,  Ballou,"  re 
sponded  Sinclair — "I  never  had  the  fortune  to  meet  such  a 
perron  before." 

"  Well,  you've  let  her  off,  and  you'll  be  sorry  for  it.  She's 
tricked  you." 

"  Even  if  she  has,  I  shall  not  be  sorry  that  I  let  her  off.  Bet 
tei  1  should  be  deceived,  than  that  I  should  be  *rotibied  with  a 
constant  misgiving  lest  I  had  done  a  great  v « ^ng  to  humanity. 
We  h^d  no  ri^nt,  besides,  to  detain  her." 

"  Wsll,  I  reckou  w?  can't  consider  about  rights  so  closely  in 
war  time.  If  we  did.  we'd  half  the  time  do  nothing — nothing. 
We'>  i.  ^ot  to  sir  a  in  Mie  laws  mighty  hard,  sometimes,  if  we 
would  ^iake  ».  pn  pv.y  -Headway  against  the  enemy.  It  ain't  the 
laws  tbat's  going  to  make  an  obstinate  rogue  give  in,  and  let 
out  what  he  knows.  We  have  to  put  the  pinchers  to  his  tender 
feelings,  and  the  hickories  to  his  back,  or  we  can't  always  untie 
his  tongue,  and  get  at  his  secrets." 

"  And  you'd  have  subjected  such  a  girl  as  that  to  the  lash 
Uallou  1  I  really  had  a  better  opinion  of  your  humanity." 

"Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  too  much  humanity  in  war  time 
I  don*  mean  to  say  that  I'd  have  the  gal  whipped,  exactly, 
though  vnce,  when  she  dodged  me  before,  I  felt  in  my  heart 
like  nesting  her  soundly,  if  I  could  have  caught  her ;  but  I'd 
have  taken  her  into  captivity,  and  kept  her  on  short  commons, 
till  she  let  out  all  we  wanted  to  know.  And  she's  so  eager  to 
get  off,  that  I'm  sure  she'd  have  let  out  her  secrets,  had  you 
only  pinned  her  up  in  a  ploughline  for  awhile.  You  had  her  at 
your  mercy,  colonel,  and  could  have  got  ell  her  secrets  by  a  little 
squeezing.  But  it'v  no  use  talking  now.  You've  let  her  off, 
and  we  must  now  work  our  own  traverse,  after  the  track,  to  that 
hiding-place  of  Inglehardt." 

"  So  be  it !  That  we  had  her  st  our  mer^y  was  no  good 
i-caron  wliy  we  should  abuse  our  power,  and  in  the  case  of  a 
voung  creature  like  that,  an^  A  woman  too.  You  would  havi 
us,  Ballou,  im'tate  the  practice  0£  oar  tories,  and  these  Florida 
refugees,  witl  whom  wor.  *u  and  the  *eak  are  always  chos 

* 


466  EUTAW. 

victims.     Your    scouting    business    teaches    you    some    hard    les 
sons." 

' '  It  makes  me  mighty  suspicious  of  the  cunning  of  sich  sort 
of  cattle." 

"You  don't  believe  much  in  the  virtues,  Ballou." 

"Well,  I  see  too  little  of  them  uow-a-days,  to  be  easy  of  be 
lief.  Besides,  here's  a  matter  I  may  say  of  life  and  death. 
You  sent  me  to  hunt  up  Captain  Travis  and  the  boy  Henry  ;  and 
I  find  the  very  person  that  can  carry  you  to  their  hiding-place ; 
and  when  it  only  wants  a  little  tight  squeezing  to  make  her  do 
it,  you  listen  to  all  her  cunning  stories,  and  let's  her  off.  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  her  story.  She's  just  come  over  you  with  a 
sarcumvention  of  her  own,  and  she's  a-laughing  at  you  now, 
even  as  she  rides. 

"Be  it  so,  Ballou.  Yet,  though  something  of  a  soldier,  and 
not  over-confiding  myself  —  not  easily  imposed  upon,  I'm  sure 
—  /believe  every  syllable  that  was  uttered  by  that  strange  girl. 
Every  word,  every  look,  was  truth." 

"It  was!"  interposed  St.  Julien.  "Ballou  can  not  understand 
such  a  nature.  The  woman  is  an  anomaly.  In  the  old  world 
she  would  probably  be  accounted  a  genius  —  one  of  that  class 
with  whom  a  most  fiery  impulse  is  yet  subordinated"  to  a  true 
controlling  thought.  She  is  true.  Nay,  more:  she  will  seek 
us  out.  She  will  bring  us  voluntarily  the  information  we  seek. 
She  will  not  be  coerced,  except  by  her  own  will.  She  does  not 
will  to  do  so  now,  because  of  the  concentration,  upon  some  one 
earnest  purpose  now,  of  all  her  hopes,  fears,  thoughts,  and  feel 
ings.  Had  we  kept  that  girl  in  bonds,  in  the  hope  to  compel 
her  to  our  purpose,  we  might  have  driven  her  to  madness,  but 
never  to  submission." 

Here  'Bram,  who  had  been  showing  himself  very  impatient 
of  a  conversation  in  which  he  had  been  suffered  to  take  no 
part,'  interposed  and  said,  abruptly  enough  : 

"Iyer  somet'ing  'bout  dat  same  gal,  Mass  Willie.  Iyer  from 
old  Cato,  who's  carriage-driber  for  Miss  Trabis.  He  true,  what 
de  gal  tell  you,  'bout  he  gitting  shoot  in  de  arm,  by  dem  rascal 
what'  bin  cotch  de  ladies ;  he  shoot  'em  jis  when  dc  Lawd 
Iloddin  come  up  —  den  de  gal  fall  down  and  faint  'way;  den 
de  British  sodger  run  at  de  rascal  in  de  woods  :  shoot  some — 
I 


467 

hang  odder  some ;  den  day  pick  up  de  gal,  put  'em  in  de  car 
riage  wid  Miss  Trabis,  and  bring  'cm  to  we  house.  He  'tay 
day,  two,  tree,  fibc,  seben  day,  maybe,  tell  be  git  better  ob  be 
hu't ;  den  be  gone  —  nobody  know  whay  be  gone;  and  day 
nebber  sees  'em  'gain,  tell  Ballou  catches  'em,  and  brings  'em 
yer  " 

"You  see,  Ballou,  'Brain's  story  confirms  that  of  the  girl." 

"In  that  matter,  maybe — but  not  in  the  other.  I  tell  you  she 
had  to  do  it  with  Inglehardt's  gang.  I  have  seen  her  talking  with 
one  of  them." 

"That  proves  nothing.  You  have  seen  her  talking  with  us,  yet 
she  had  no  connection  with  us,  except  against  her  will." 

"Ay,  but  it  was  not  against  her  will  that  she  talked  with 
them." 

"Ballou,  you  are  inveterate.  According  to  your  own  previous 
report,  this  girl's  track  was  always  after,  and  about  the  tracks 
of  these  ruffians.  You  yourself  admit  to  have  made  her  separate 
track  your  guide  to  the  places  where  they  were  to  be  found." 

"Yes,  and  it  always  led  me  right." 

"  But  that  it  was  still  always  separate  fully  confirms  her  assertion, 
that  she  harbored  about  them,  even  as  you  did,  but  did  not  mingle 
with  them." 

' '  Ah  !  that's  her  assertion  only. " 

"It  seems  confirmed  by  all  other  testimony.  But  enough,  now. 
I  am  satisfied  that  she  is  as  innocent  as  yourself.  Your  pride  has 
been  hurt  by  the  girl  ;  and  you  feel  it  a  little  too  deeply.  You 
have  been  faithful  and  zealous,  but  unfortunate,  so  far ;  and  this 
mortifies  you.  She  has  spoken  offensively  to  you,  and  this  has 
vexed  you  into  injustice.  But  for  these  things  you  would  probably 
see  her  in  the  same  light  with  ourselves.  Her  words  to  you 
were  harsh  ;  but,  if  she  spoke  the  truth  of  herself  she  was  justi 
fied  in  what  she  said  of  you.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  question 
your  truth  and  fidelity,  because  I  believe  in  her.  And  now  for 
'Bram's  story." 

We  need  not  give  the  details  of  that  long  narrative.  'Brain 
had  much  to  tell.  Of  his  escort  of  Travis's  negroes  safely 
across  the  Santee ;  of  his  subsequently  attaching  himself  to 
Mrs.  Travis,  whom  he  encountered  on  the  road  ;  of  the  finding 
of  his  master  and  the  young  ladies  in  the  highway,  foundered, 


468  EUTAW. 

robbed  of  their  carriage-horses;  of  the  extreme  illness  of  the  old  man; 
of  the  fond  attentions  and  care  shown  by  Mrs.  Travis  and  her 
daughter  during  the  veteran's  extremity;  of  the  intimacy  which  had 
grown  up  into  affection  between  the  parlies;  of  his  own  indefatigable 
exertions,  great  merits,  and  sufferings  as  a  scout;  of  his  capture  by 
Dick  of  Tophet,  and  his  subsequent  transfer  to  the  custody  of  Grif 
fith,  the  promiscuous  dealer  in  contraband,  near  Wantoot  and 
Pooshee;  of  all  these  particulars  'Bram  delivered  himself  at  great 
length.  His  prolixity  underwent  due  increase,  when  he  came  to 
narrate  the  particulars  of  his  connection  with  Griffith  and  final 
escape.  We  must  not  suffer  him  to  speak,  or  he  will  take  up  too 
much  of  our  time.  Enough  to  state  that,  finding  himself  in  the  hands 
of  Griffith,  his  sagacity  at  once  scented  his  danger.  He  soon  learned 
that  he  was  to  be  sent  to  the  British  West  India  islands.  Griffith, 
himself,  who  had  already  accumulated  a  score  of  similar  captives, 
destined  to  a  similar  fate  —  all  of  whom  he  kept  in  a  log  pen  in  the 
swamp  —  had  told  him,  and  the  rest,  that  they  were  to  go  thither; 
that  they  were  to  be  slaves  no  longer,  but  free  to  enjoy  the'  fat  of  the 
land;  a  region  in  which  rum-juice  run  in  the  canes,  filling  all  their 
hollows;  sugar  grew  upon  the  bushes  in  place  of  berries;  where  the 
sun  always  shone,  day  and  night;  and  where  the  sole  employment 
was  to  eat,  drink,  and  keep  their  wives  in  order,  taking  as  many  as 
they  chose.  "  The  heaven  of  each  is  but  what  each  desires,"  and 
the  heaven  thus  painted  for  the  negroes  in  the  log-pen  was  so 
painted  by  the  cunning  Griffith  as  effectually  to  intoxicate  the 
fancies  of  these  sable  sons  of  Africa,  who  were  all  eager  to  be 
gone.  According  to  'Bram,  however,  his  wisdom  was  more  than 
a  match  for  Griffith's  cunning.  But  seeing,  he  pretended  not  to 
see.  Doubting,  he  appeared  religiously  to  believe.  He  put  on 
the  look  of  the  simpleton;  opened  his  mouth  from  ear  to  ear;  drank 
in  delightedly  all  he  heard;  and  was  so  easy  of  faith,  so  happy 
in  the  prospect,  that  Griffith  was  effectually  deceived.  Having  need 
of  a  vigorous  laborer,  he  preferred  'Bram  to  the  office  of  a  clerk 
or  assistant.  There  was  a  boat,  run  up  the  creek,  containing 
casks  of  rum  and  sugar ;  these  had  to  be  unloaded  at  midnight, 
and  wagoned  up  to  the  secret  post  which  our  contrabandista 
maintained.  To  assist  in  this  duty,  'Bram  was  employed,  and  by 


469 

little  and  little,  his  opportunities  grew,  and  he  did  not  suffer 
them  to  escape  him.  He  watched  his  chance,  while  at  the  boat ; 
and,  having  sent  off  his  last  cargo,  emptying  the  boat,  and 
finding  himself  alone,  he  cut  her  loose,  allowed  her  to  drift  a 
short  way  down  stream,  and  when  she  struck  upon  the  opposite 
bank,  a  mile  below,  he  jumped  out  and  took  to  the  woods, 
where  he  effectually  hid  himself  from  pursuit,  until,  in  his  sub 
sequent  wanderings,  he  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  Ballou  and 
his  party. 

"We  caught  the  rascal  asleep,"  quoth  Ballou. 

"  I  no  bin  sleep,  Ballou.  I  bin  mak'  b'lieb  I  sleep.  I  jis  bin  lay 
myself  down  to  res'  my  leg,  when  I  see  de  sodger.  I  knows  dem  and 
le'  'em  come  up  and  find  me.  Ef  I  hadn't  a'  bin  know  'em,  day 
nebber  bin  find  me  for  t'ousand  years." 

"I  had  to  waken  him  by  kicking,"  said  Ballou. 

"Psho!  Ballou,  enty  I  bin  know  whose  foot  it  was?  Enty  I  bin 
know  you  all  de  time?  Ha!  you  s'pose  dis  nigger  fool! " 

"Well,  I  can  only  say,  you  must  have  loved  kicking  mightily 
to  have  taken  so  much  of  it  from  your  friends,  without  any  reason 
for  it." 

"  Psho  !  he  ain't  hu't.  You  kin  kick  me  all  day  yer"  —  stri 
king  the  invulnerable  region  with  complacency — "an'  I  nebber 
feel  'em." 

It  will  be  seen  that  'Bram  was  equally  insensible  in  the 
point  and  seat  of  honor  ;  and  this  insensibility  was  in  consider 
able  degree,  a  matter  of  pride  and  satisfaction  with  him  ;  even  as  the 
alligator  congratulates  himself  that  his  hide  defies  a  rifle  bullet ;  as  a 
turtle  exults  that  .his  coating  laughs  at  the  teeth  of  the  shark,  and 
the  bill  of  the  sword-fish ;  as  a  well-provisioned  garrison  chuckles 
over  the  strength  of  its  walls  when  the  foe  thunders  against  them 
from  without. 

The  bugle  was  sounded. 

"Whither  now,  Willie?"  demanded  St.  Julien. 

' '  To  this  good  Widow  Avinger's,  of  course ;  to  see  all  the  dear 
ones  —  father  and  sister,  and  my  poor  Bertha!  Heavens!  how  they 
all  suffered." 

"Willie!" 

"Well!  what?" 

"You  forget  your  commission." 


470  EUTAW. 

"What!  shall  I  find  myself  only  a  few  miles  from  my  fathei  and 
sisters  and  deny  myself  to  see  them." 

' '  Yet  the  instructions  of  General  Marion,  touching  Pooshee  and 
Wantoot." 

' '  The  devil  take  Pooshee  and  Wantoot,  if  they  are  to  keep 
me  from  one  hours  enjoyment  of  home  —  at  a  moment  like  this  — 
after  such  anxieties  as  I  have  borne  so  long  —  after  such  toils  as  \ve 
have  undergone!  No!  no!  my  dear  Peyre,  you  are  quite  too  much 
of  a  martinet.  Nay,  you  are  cold-blooded,  man  ;  for  you  seem  to 
forget  that  you  shall  see  Carrie  when  I  see  .Bertha.  By  Heavens! 
if  this  is  the  philosophic  mode  —  stoical  all  over  —  with  which  you 
are  to  love  my  sister,  you  sha'n't  have  her  after  all!  I'll  second  my 
father's  objections.  I'll  admit  that  you  are  not  only  a  Frenchman, 
but  an  unnatural  Frenchman,  who  has  no  proper  sense  of  la  belle 
passion." 

"Willie,"  said  the  other,  while  his  bronze  visage  showed  warmer 
tints  through  the  skin  than  ever. 

"Oh!  you  mean  that  I  do  you  injustice;  but,  by  Heavens, 
Peyre  !  to  think  of  your  opposing  such  a  visit,  only  for  an  hour, 
under  such  circumstances,  is  absolutely  monstrous  !  What  would 
Carrie  say?" 

"That  I  did  not  forget  honor  in  love." 

"And  who  forgets  honor?  What  is  there  in  conflict  with  honor  in 
this  proposed  visit?" 

"  With  duty,  then?  Do  you  not  see,  from  this  very  story  of  'Brain, 
that  there  are  new  reasons  rendering  the  reconnoisance  of  these  posts 
doubly  necessary  ? " 

"  And  will  the  delay  of  a  few  hours  affect  the  duty?" 

"It  may /" 

"  Well,  let  it!  I  am  a  man  as  well  as  a  soldier.  I  have  not  had 
an  hour's  respite  for  the  last  three  months  —  have  not  wasted  an  hour 
idly.  Shall  I  be  denied  a  few  brief  moments  of  pleasure — a  single 
hurried  embrace  with  those  who  are  dear  to  my  heart '.'  Oh,  Peyre, 
Peyre,  how  can  you  deny  me?" 

"I  deny  myself,  Willie." 

"I  don't  believe  it!  You  are  a  stoic,  a  cynic,  an  ascetic  I 
You  have  no  more  heart  than  a  millstone.  I  tell  you,  Peyre.  1 
will  pay  this  visit.  An  hour's  riding  will  carry  us  there.  I 
will  but  kiss  all  round,  and  say  'God  bless  you!'  and  'How 


WILLIE  SINCLAIR'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  FATHEK.          471 

d'ye  do  ?  '  and  '  Good-by  ! '  all  the  same  breath,  and  then  cry  aloud, 
to  appease  your  conscience,  '  Captain  St.  Julien,  sound  to-saddle  ! ' 
There  !  will  that  promise  serve  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  counsel,  Willie." 

' '  And  you  persist  in  counselling  for  Hooshee  and  Wantoot,  and 
against  this  visit  ?  " 

<  <  i  d0  —  however  reluctantly,  I  do  !  It  is  against  the  desires  of  my 
own  heart  that  I  so  counsel." 

"  That  for  your  counsel !"  snapping  his  fingers.  "  Boot  and  sad 
dle,  there!  Shall  there  be  no  sunshine,  because  I  am  a  soldier?  — 
no  smile,  because  I  must  scout  and  fight  ?  —  not  a  kiss  from  loving 
lips,  because,  a  moment  after,  I  may  have  a  bullet  through  my 
breast?  Come  on,  Peyre  !  Never  look  so  dreary,  man  —  so 
stern — !  —  don't  treat  yourself  so  unkindly.  I  know  your  heart  — 
know  that  you  long,  as  much  much  as  I  do,  for  this  meeting 
with  our  friends ;  and  that  your  virtue  and  duty  are  quite  too 
severe  for  ordinary  humanity.  They  will  starve  you  yet  in  the 
midst  of  plenty.  To-saddle,  man  !  We  shall  see  all  the  dear  ones  in 
an  hour ! " 

And  so  they  rode  ! 

But  they  had  not  ridden  a  mile  before  they  encountered  one  of 
Marion's  scouting-parties,  post-haste,  "spurring,  fiery  red,"  who 
brought  despatches  for  Sinclair,  commanding  his  immediate  return  to 
the  brigade.  Marion  wrote  : — 

"  The  general  designs  a  great  movement,  which  requires  the  con 
centration  of  all  our  forces.  Give  no  further  heed  to  the  small 
posts  of  Pooshee  and  Wantoot.  We  are  in  possession  of  all  that  we 
need  to  know  of  these  places,  which  sink  into  insignificance  in  con 
sequence  of  the  approach  of  Stewart  with  his  whole  army.  He 
is  pushing  down  the  country,  and  will  be  upon  you,  unless  you 
move  quickly.  He  will  probably  halt  and  fortify  himself  at  Eutaw. 
He  has,  we  know,  ordered  up  all  his  detachments  from  below. 
Five  hundred  infantry  are  now  on  the  march  from.  Fairlawn, 
while  Stewart's  own  army  is  said  to  number  two  thousand  and 
three  hundred  We  shall  have  our  hands  full  of  business  soon, 
and  need  all  the  men  that  we  can  muster.  If  you  can  convey 
intelligence  of  this  to  Captains  Vanderhorst,  Conyers,  and  Coulter, 
who  are  all  operating  somewhere  above  you,  do  so.  But  lose 


472  EUTAW. 

no  time  in  doing  it;  and,  above  all,  do  not  let  this  or  any 
other  duty  interfere  with  your  immediate  return  to  the-  bri 
gade." 

Another  despatch  was  from  Rutledge  : — 

"Sorry,  my  dear  colonel,  to  cut  short  your  roving  commission  ; 
doubly  sorry  that  it  has  not  yet  resulted  as  you  could  wish. 
But  we  can  spare  you  from  the  main  action  of  the  drama  no  longer. 
We  are  now,  I  think,  approaching  the  denouement  and  require  all 
our  heroes  on  the  stage.  Stewart  is  in  rapid  march  downward 

—  a  little  too  strong  for  us  yet,   particularly  with  the  reinforce 
ments  which  he  will  get    from    the    lower    posts.      We  hear    of 
these  in  motion  from  several  quarters,    as    many  as  a  thousand 
or    twelve    hundred    men.      These,    in  addition  to    his  estimated 
strength  at  present  of  twenty-three  hundred,  will   give  heavy  odds 
against    us,    unless    our     mounted    men   come    out    much    more 
numerously  than    usual.      Greene    is    on    the    march,    somewhat 
recruited,  but  very  little  strengthened.     Congress  has  done  nothing 

—  can  or  will  do  nothing — not  even  give    us  arms  and  ammu 
nition  !      Three    hundred  of  our  people  are  still  without  service 
able  weappons  of  an  kind,  and  seven  hundred  without  jackets  or 
breeches.     It  is  really    lucky    that    we    have    hot  weather.     We 
must  make  up  in  zeal  what  we  lack  in   men   and  munitions,  and 
only    fight   the  harder  from   having   but   little   means  with  which 
to  fight  at  all !     That,  my   dear    Sinclair,  is  a  new   philosophy  for 
the  management  of  armies,  but  it  is   one  that  will  not  seem  alto 
gether  silly  in   the   estimation   of   the   true  patriot.     At  all  events 
it  is  about  the  best  that  I  can  give  to  you,  who  know  how  to  fight 
so  well  on  short  commons;   and    it    affords    the    only    hope    upon 
which  I  have   fed   (very   like   fasting)   for   a   long   season  !    Once 
more,  then,  my  dear  Sinclair,  let  me  regret  the  necessity  which  re 
quire  that  you  rejoin  your  brigade,  and  defer,  for  a  brief  season,  the 
painfully  interesting  personal   enterprise  upon  which  you  are  en 
gaged. 

"Ever  sincerely  your  friend,  J.  RUTLEDGE," 

Sinclair  read  with  evident  vexation.     He  handed  the  despatches  to 
St.  Julian  with  the  single  remark : 
"  Was  ever  anything  so  malaprop  ?  " 


WILLIE  SINCLAIR'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  FATHER.          473 


Then  lie  addressed  himself  to  the  bearer  of  despatches,  and 
asked  sundry  questions  about  the  position  of  the  brigade  its 
numbers,  and  so  forth. 

"Of  course,  Willie,  you  obe}7  these  mandates?" 

"To  be  sure!  Could  you  doubt?  But  if  you  mean,  by  this 
question,  Peyre,  to  convey  they  idea  that  I  am  to  be  cut  off  from 
this  visit  to  my  father,  you  are  mistaken.  No,  by  Heavens!  I 
will  see  him — see  them  all— feel  the  gripe  of  their  hands  once 
more,  though  Stewart  with  all  his  army  came  thundering  to  the 
interview  !  Ho,  there  ! " 

And  he  called  up  a  couple  of  lieutenants. 

"Mazyck,  take  ten  men,  and  scout  along  the  road  above. 
Rendezvous  in  two  hours  at  Mrs.  Avinger's.  You,  Postell,  take 
another  ten  men  on  the  road  below.  Watch  well,  both  of  you, 
and  keep  to  time."  To  Ballon  he  gave  instructions  for  finding 
Vanderhorst  and  Conyers.  "Coulter,"  said  he,  "may  be  about 
the  Four-Hole  Bridge.  But  he  is  too  far  to  reach  now.  Unless 
by  some  fortunate  accident,  we  can  hardly  find  him  in  proper 
season.  At  all  events,  take  this  paper " — here  he  penciled 
upon  a  scrap  of  letter  a  single  sentence.  "  Drop  it  in  the  old 
hollow  at  Green  Fork.  It  is  just  possible  that  he  may  be  in 
the  precinct,  and  will  look  there.  You"  (to  Ballou)  "can  re 
sume  your  scouting  about  the  hiding-place  of  Inglehardt.  You 
must  find  out  the  secrets  of  that  fastness,  man,  or  die  !  Your 
reputation  as  a  scout  depends  upon  it.  Do  not  let  this  wild 
girl  beat  you  at  your  own  business. — And  now,  Peyre,  my 
brother — my  cynical,  duty-loving  friend — you  go  with  me!  I 
am  resolved  that  we  shall  not  lose  the  one  hour  which  I  dedi 
cate  to  our  hearts,  for"  all  the  British  armies  that  ever  left  Land's 
End  ! " 

And  again  they  rode. 

Under  'Bram's  guidance,  they  soon  reached  the  window  Av 
inger's.  They  got  a  glimpse  of  old  Cato  as  they  dashed  into 
the  enclosure.  Old  Sam  was  seen  to  take  off  his  cap  and  grin, 
and  make  a  leg;  but  they  stopped  nowhere  short  of  the  piazza, 
where,  dismounting,  they  hurried  up  the  steps,  and  were  in  the 
hall  of  the  dwelling,  before  the  inmates  were  aware  of  the  char 
acter  of  the  visitors. 

The  baron    lay  drowsing    upon  his    sofa.     Carrie  Sinclair  was 


474  BUT  AW. 

in  her  chamber,  in  her  bed,  still  suffering  from  her  terrors,  her 
bruises,  and  the  natural  excitement  and  anxiety  of  her  soul 
Mrs.  Travis  was  in  attendance  upon  her.  Mrs.  Aviuger  was  in 
the  kitchen.  St.  Julien  lingered  in  the  piazza,  as  Sinclair 
darted  in. 

"My  father!"  he  cried,  as  he  recognized  the  old  man  on  the 
sofa,  and  rushed  up  to  him,  and  threw  his  arms  about  his  neck. 
The  veteran  started  from  his  drowse,  with  a  cry  of  joy  and  pain: 

"  My  sou  !  oh,  Willie,  my  son,  my  son  ! "  he  cried,  and  burst 
into  a  sobbing  lamentation,  like  a  child,  utterly  overcome.  The 
son  was  shocked. 

"Why,  sir,  why  do  you  weep  thus?" 

"  Weep  !  ha  !  ha  !  Rather  ask  why  I  do  not  rave — why  I  do 
not  tear  my  hair — why  I  am  not  a  madman  ! " 

"I  knew  that  you  were  sick,  sir,  but  you  are  better  now." 

"Sick,  sir?  D — n  the  sickness!  I  have  been  nigh  to  death, 
sir !  Oh,  Willie,  I  have  been  nigh  to  death !  But  I  am  a 
man — a  soldier.  Do  you  suppose  I  trembled  at  the  thought 
of  death  ?  do  you  suppose  that  death,  or  danger  of  my  own,  of 
any  kind,  would  cause  these  eyes  to  fill  and  overflow?  It  is 
worse  than  death  !  Oh,  Willie,  have  you  -not  heard — do  you 
not  know?  That  girl — that  sweet,  loving,  dear  creature — Annie 
Smith — no,  not  Annie  Smith  (d — n  the  Smiths  !) — but  your  girl, 
your  affianced — yes,  Bertha — she  ! — O  my  God.  preserve  my 
brain  ! " 

"  Bertha  !  what  of  her  !    I  know  that  she  is  here  ! " 

"You  know  no  such  thing!  She  is  gone,  I  tell  you!  Why 
the  devil  will  you  not  understand,  at  once,  without  my  telling 
it  again  and  again,  as  if  it  were  a  pleasure  to  rub  afresh  the 
wounds  in  my  heart." 

"Gone!     Bertha,  gone!    Where?" 

"Ay,  where?  Why  are  you  not  able  to  answer  the  ques 
tion?  Why  were  you  not  here  to  protect,  and  defend,  and  res 
cue,  the  innocent  creature  from  the  wolves  and  vultures — from 
the  dark,  damnable  ruffians  that  have  carried  her  off." 

"  Carried  off  !    Ruffians  ! " 

"Why  do  you  echo  me!"  with  a  fearful  oath.  "Do  you 
suppose  it  a  pleasure  with  me  to  have  the  infernal  thorn  for  ever 
in  my  side!  Ay,  carried  off,  by  nUllans  with  violence,  varm-d 


WILLIE  SINCLAIR'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  FATHEU.  475 

off,  no  one  knows  whither,  or  for  what  purpose  ;  but,  as  we  suppose, 
by  Inglehardt,  since  that  hell-born  ruffian,  whom  you  once  let  es 
cape  you,  Hell-tire  Dick,  was  the  leader  of  the  gang!  " 

"Great  God! "cried  Willie  Sinclair,  as  he  staggered  back  con 
vulsed  and  trembling  with  emotions  that  denied  him  further 
speech.  At  that  moment,  Carrie  Sinclair,  who  had  heard  her 
brother's  voice  above  stairs,  and  could  not  be  restrained,  rushed 
into  the  room,  and  threw  her  arms  sobbing,  as  if  her  heart  would 
break,  about  his  neck.  , 

"Oh!  Willie,  oh!  my  brother!  I  strove  for  her;  I  would  have 
died  to  save  her,  but  I  had  no  strength!  Look  at  me,  how  they 
have  beaten,  and  disfigured  me  in  defence  of  her  !  " 

"My  poor  Carrie!"  cried  Willie,  recovering  strength  from  the 
feeling  of  horror  as  he  beheld  her  bruised  and  blackened  face  — 
"  Why  was  I  not  here?  " 

"Why?  why?  Oh!  Willie,  all  was  going  on  so  well!  The  dear 
girl  is  an  angel,  and  won  all  our  hearts!  " 

Willie's  second  thought,  as  he  beheld  his  sister's  face,  was  — 
"St.  Julien  must  not  see  her  thus!"  But  St.  Julien,  as  he  heard 
her  voice,  entered  the  apartment.  He  took  her  hand,  pressed  it 

—  oh  how  earnestly  —  looked    into  her    eyes,   which    drooped  be 
fore  him,  and  with  one  look  from  his  own,   which  had  in  it  a 
world  of  intelligence,  he  dropped  her  hand  softly  and  advanced  to 
the  baron. 

"Oh  !  you  are  both  here,  ?ww,  when  it  is  too  late!"  was  the  old 
man's  only  salutation.  "  And  what  are  you  about  to  do  for  her  re 
covery.  You  will  seek  —  " 

"  Ay,  seek!  slay!  "  cried  Willie  Sinclair,  with  a  fierce  burst  which 
was  unrestrianable.  "  I  will  drink  of  that  villain's  blood?  " 

But  we  dismiss  the  scene.  We  can  add  nothing  to  it.  It's 
facts  were  so  much  —  no  more.  Of  what  avail  the  narrative 

—  the  sobs  which  accompanied  it — the  deep   agonizing  groan,  or 
wail,  and  the  fierce  exclamation,  which  followed  the  cruel  details. 
It   was  storm  and  rain  throughout — thunder  and    lightning,  and 
a  pitchy  cloud  over  all!    But  there  was  one  spot  through  which 
the  blue  heavens  shone  with  promise!     There  was  no  longer  one 
hostile  feeling  in  old  Sinclair's  heart,  to  the  object   of    his  son's 
affection.     So  much  had  been  gained,  at  least,  to  love,  and  hope 
supplied  the  rest. 


470  EUTAW. 

And  the  two  captains  tore  themselves  away,  at  last,  as  the 
1  mimics-  sounded  without  the  assemblage  of  their  several  squads 
at  the  place  of  rendezvous.  They  had  brought  a  glimpse  of 
consolation  to  the  family  by  their  presence,  though  they  could 
offer  none.  But  how  changed  was  the  scene,  in  reality,  to  them 
selves,  from  that  which  had  awakened  poor  Willie  Sinclair's  glow- 
inp  anticipations. 

"And  what  now,  Willie?"  demanded  St.  Julien  as  they  reached 
the  woods. 

"Pursue!  pursue!  hunt!  search!  Take  no  rest,  no  respite,  no 
sleep,  till  I  track  that  wolf-robber  to  his  den,  and  rescue  the  victim 
from  his  jaws!" 

"That  is  impossible  now,  Willie!  Remember  the  orders  of 
Marion,  the  dispatches  of  Rutledge." 

"  And  what  right  has  Marion,  or  Rutledge,  to  deny  that  I  shall  be 
human  —  have  a  heart  —  seek  to  save  the  dearest  object  of  my  soul 
from  hurt  and  shame!"  was  the  wild  fierce  response  of  the. roused 
and  passionate  man. 

"  You  are  not  sane  now,  Willie!    You  must  obey  orders." 

"Go,  Peyre!  Do  your  duty.  Take  the  men  with  you!  Leave 
me,  my  brother.  I  have  one  duty  —  over  all  —  to  her  —  to  myself  — 
which  I  can  no  longer  forego!" 

"No,  Willie,  this  must  not  be.  I  must  save  you  from  your 
self.  Submit  to  me.  You  know  that  I  would  not  counsel  you 
to  error.  You  must  not  leave  the  army  on  the  eve  of  battle! 
Leave  it  in  my  hands.  Bertha  is,  really,  in  no  danger.  She 
is  only  under  temporary  constraint.  The  object  of  Inglehardt 
is  to  force  her  to  marry  him,  not  to  wrong  or  harm  her  other 
wise!"  . 

•"  And  suppose  he  succeeds." 

"Then  let  her  go!  " 

"Ha!" 

"Yes,  let  her  go!  If  his  threats  or  artifices  can  prevail  upon 
a  sensible  mind  like  that  of  Bertha  Travis,  then  is  her  love  of  too 
little  value  to  provoke  a  care! " 

"  But,  Peyre,  my  brother  —  " 

"I  know  what  you  would  say.  Fidelity,  Willie,  means  faith, 
and  truth,  and  resolution,  ayiiinst  force,  power,  threats,  terror, 
bonds,  everything!  That  is  the  meaning  of  all  such  pledges  if 


WILLIE  SINCLAIR'S  VISIT  TO  HIS  FATHER.       47? 

they  mean  anything  !  To  be  faithful  only  when  the  skies  smile,  and 
the  seas  are  smooth,  and  there  is  no  danger,  no  suffering,  is  a  butter 
fly  sort  of  fidelity  which  you  may  whistle  down  the  wind  in  all  sea 
sons.  Have  faith  in  your  betrothed  !  She  will  defy  the  arts  of  this 
ruffian,  mock  his  threats  —  come  out  of  the  furnace  purer,  stronger, 
truer,  and  more  devoted  than  before.  It  is  your  want  of  faith  that 
questions  hers  ! " 

"  I  do  not  question  her  faith,  but  her  strength,  Peyre." 

"Faith  makes  strength.  You  must  go  with  me.  You  must  not  be 
absent  from  the  army  now." 

"Honor  !  Honor  !  Duty  !  Country  !  what  sacrifices  of  the  heart 
ye  ask  at  our  hands!" 

Enough,  that,  with  a  loving  zeal,  tenderness,  and  authority,  Peyre 
St.  Julien  clung  to  his  refractory  friend  till  he  coerced  his  submis 
sion.  He  was  unexpectedly  succored  in  his  arguments  and  entrea 
ties,  by  the  arrival  of  Lieutenant  Mazyck  and  his  scouting  party, 
who  reported  Colonel  Stewart  with  the  whole  British  army  to  be 
only  two  miles  above,  and  rapidly  pressing  down  upon  them. 

With  a  deep  groan,  Sinclair  gave  the  orders  to  sound  to  saddle, 
and  prepared  to  reconnoitre  the  advancing  columns  of  the  enemy, 
before  returning  to  Marion's  camp  on  the  Santee  ;  and,  if  possible, 
to  harass  their  flanks,  and  cut  off  stragglers:  a  duty  which  he  per 
formed  wilh^his  usual  energy — perhaps  with  a  savage  increase  of 
energy  —  giving  the  enemy,  an  hour's  cause  of  disquiet,  and  picking 
up  half  a  score  of  prisoners.  All  this,  with  the  British  deficiency  in 
.horse,  he  executed  with  equal  spirit  and  success. 


478  EUTAW, 


CHAPTEK   XXXIX. 

HOW   KELLY   FLOYD   SPED   TO   SAVE   HER   BROTHER. 

WE  need  here  a  little  historical  resume.  We  have  seen  that 
Colonel  Stewart  —  or,  as  we  should  now  call  him,  General  Stew 
art,  having  the  command  of  all  the  active  British  operations  in 
Carolina  after  the  departure  of  Lord  Rawdon  —  had  pushed  up 
to  the  banks  of  the  Congaree,  and,  almost  as  promptly,  wheeled 
about  and  pressed  down,  with  all  his  army,  to  the  low  country. 
Meanwhile  the  Americans  were  watching  him  closely.  Colonel 
Washington  was  detached  down  the  country  also,  along  the  San  tee; 
Lee  upward,  along  the  north  bank  of  the  Congaree;  the  latter,  to 
cooperate  with  Colonel  Henderson,  then  in  command  of  Sumter's 
brigade,  at  Fridig's  ferry:  the  former,  to  strike  at  the  enemy's  com 
munications  with  Charleston,  and  cooperate  with  Marion  and  Maham, 
in  covering  the  Lower  Santee.  Colonel  Harden,  as  already  reported, 
with  his  mounted  militia,  was  seeking  to  straiten  the  British  beyond 
the  Edisto,  and  along  the  heads  of  tide  water  in  that  region.  Most 
of  these  bodies  were  mounted  men,  and  ;  as  Greene  himself  testifies, 
"never  excelled  for  enterprise  in  the  world." 

We  have  not  deemed  it  necessary  to  report  the  numerous 
small  adventures  in  which  they  were  perpetually  and  almost 
always  successfully  engaged.  We  .have  rather  sought,  by  the 
exhibition  of  a  few  instances,  to  give  a  general  idea  of  their 
spirit,  enterprise  and  vigilance,  than  to  furnish  a  perfect  chroni 
cle  of  their  doings.  We  may  state,  however,  that,  in  this  very 
progress,  Washington  cut  up  two  distinct  bodies  <'f  the  liritish 
light  horse,  making  some  fifty  pri.-.^nu-.s  ;  while  Lw,  crowing 


HOW   NELLY   FLOYD    SPED    TO    SAVE    HER   BROTHER.    4 -TO 


the  Congarcc  with  his  cavalry  only,  penetrated  between  the  main 
body  ot  the  enemy,  and  the  garrison  which  he  had  left  at  Orangeburg, 
and,  almost  in  sight  of  the  latter  place,  drove  in,  dispersed,  cut  to 
pieces,  or  captured  several  of  their  foraging  and  communicating  par 
ties.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  our  Captain  Ingleliardt  suffered  some 
rough  handling,  lost  five  of  his  troopers,  and  made  a  narrow  escape 
with  the  rest. 

The  audacity  of  the  American  cavalry  was  now  such,  and  their 
activity  and  vigilance  so  great,  that,  unless  under  protection  of  large 
detachments,  the  convoys  of  the  British  were  invariably  captured. 
Stewart  was  thus  compelled  to  seek  all  his  supplies  from  below,  and, 
through  the  several  posts  which  formed  a  chain  of  connection  from 
Charleston  to  Orangeburg. 

But  even  these  failed  to  afford  the  necessary  cover  for  his 
parties;  and  his  departure  from  Orangeburg,  and  the  subsequent 
withdrawal  of  the  garrison  from  that  post,  had  become  a  neces 
sity.  It  had  become  essential  to  the  safety  of  the  lower  posts 
themselves,  watched  as  they  were  by  Marion,  Maliarn,  and 
Washington,  that  the  main  British  army  should  concentrate  at 
some  point  considerably  below  Oraugeburg,  whence  it  might  send 
out  succor  promptly  to  the  relief  of  any  garrison  which  the  activ 
ity  of  the  partisans  should  straiten.  By  forced  Marches,  as  we 
have  shown,  Stewart  hurried  from  the  Congaree  downward,  and 
took  position  at  Eutaw  Springs,  at  a  plantation,  the  brick 
dwelling  of  which  might  be  put  to  use  as  a  fortress.  His  esti 
mated  strength  we  have  given  in  a  previous  chapter.  He  was 
able  to  concentrate,  at  this  point,  if  he  thought  proper,  at  least 
three  thousand  men.  We  now  know,  from  the  official  returns 
of  the  British  army,  that  the  number  of  troops  which  they  had  in 
Carolina,  on  the  1st  of  September,  1781 —  this  very  time  —  was 
9,775,  and  these  were  nearly  all  veteran  regiments  —  enough,  it 
would  seem,  to  keep  in  subjection,  and  effectually  crush,  if 
properly  directed,  any  force  which  the  Americans  had  within 
the  state,  or  any  which,  in  their  present  condition,  they  could 
raise  or  equip.  That  Stewart  might  have  accumulated  from 
three  to  five  thousand  men  at  Eutaw,  we  have  no  question;  and 
but  for  the  fear  of  the  consequences  of  drawing  too  greatly  up 
on  the  strength  of  the  garrison  at  Charleston  —  which  constituted 
his  only  great  base  of  operations  —  he  would  probably  have  so 


480  EUTAW. 

strengthened  himself  at  Eutaw,  as  would  have  discouraged  ef 
fectually  all  the  attempts  of  the  Americans  upon  that  position. 
That  he  had  between  twenty-five  hundred  and  three  thousand 
men  under  arms  at  that  place  is  now  beyond,  all  question.  His 
great  deficiency  was  in  cavalry.  His  only  regular  force,  of  this 
sort,  consisted  of  something  less  than  one  hundred  men,  led  by 
Captain  Coftin,  an  officer  of  ability  and  spirit.  His  irregular 
horse  was  more  numerous,  consisting  of  mounted  loyalists,  some 
half  a  dozen  or  more  bands,  such  as  that  led  by  our  Captain 
Ingk'hardt,  to  whom  the  business  of  convoying,  and  foraging  was  usu 
ally  confided. 

But,  even  laboring  under  this  deficiency  of  cavalry,  Stewart  felt 
himself  quite  secure  at  Eutaw.  His  position  might  be  rendered  one 
of  great  strength,  and  he  was  fully  conscious  of  his  superiority  in 
numbers,  in  training,  and  in  all  the  material  of  war,  in  wThich  the 
Americans  were  notoriously  deficient.  He,  accordingly,  seated  him 
self  at  Eutaw  with  a  serene  and  wTell-satisfied  composure,  which,  per 
haps,  rendered  him  somewhat  neglectful  of  proper  military  precau 
tions. 

The  Eutaw  spring  is  situated  in  the  upper  edge  of  the  pres 
ent  district  of  Charleston,  nor  far  distant  from  Nelson's  ferry. 
The  waters  gush  up  through  an  opening  in  tke  earth  of  small 
diameter,  and  immediately  form  a  pretty  basin,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  paces  round,  transparent,  and  only  a  few  feet  deep.  From 
this  basin  the  waters  glide  through  a  subterraneous  passage  of 
limestone,  and,  at  a  distance  of  a  hundred  paces,  boil  up,  and 
reappear  through  a  variety  of  passages  which  unite  to  form 
the  Eutaw  creek.  The  creek  is  a  bold  one,  having  high  banks, 
which,  at  this  period,  were  well-wooded,  forming  an  almost 
impenetrable  cover  of  tree  and  shrub,  sapling  and  brushwood. 
From  the  dwelling-house,  which  was  of  brick,  and  two  stories 
in  height,  there  ran  a  garden,  down  to  the  bank,  enclosed  with 
palisades.  The  main  building,  which  commanded  the  fields  oil 
every  side,  was  surrounded  with  various  offices  of  wood,  and 
farm-buildings  —  one  of  them  a  barn  of  considerable  size  —  all 
of  which  were  convertible  to  use,  for  defence,  in  a  moment  of 
emergency.  The  place  was  well-selected  for  Stewart's  pur 
poses. 

But  we  must  not  anticipate.      The    British  army  has  not  yet 


HOW  NELLY  FLOYD  SPED  TO  SAVE  HER  BROTHER.   481 

quite  reached  this  place  of  refuge ;  and  Nelly  Floyd  is  rapidly 
speeding  downward,  several  miles  in  advance  of  their  columns, 
She  has  a  long  ride  before  her,  and  her  impatience  and  anxiety, 
which  were  increased  fearfully  at  every  step  in  her  progress,  prompt 
ed  her  to  put  her  little  beast  to  the  utmost  uses  of  her  legs.  She 
entreats  her,  as  she  goes,  with  a  voice  of  tenderness  and  earnest 
ness,  which,  however,  does  not  prevent  her  from  the  occasional 
application  of  the  twig  of  hickory  which  she  carries  in  her 
hand.  She  speaks  to  her,  as  if  she  understood  fully  every  syllable 
of  argument  and  entreaty,  and  pats  the  neck,  which,  a  moment 
before,,  she  has  irritated  with  her  whip. 

"  Do  now,  dear  Aggy,  go  a  little  faster  !  You  are  so  slow  to-day 
—  and  we  have  lost  so  much  time  already.  That  bad  man,  to 
ride  over  us,  and  thrust  you  down,  and  make  me  a  prisoner  ! 
What  right  had  he  to  make  me  a  prisoner  ?  What  right  had  those 
officers  to  keep  me  answering  their  foolish  questions  ?  Oh,  Aggy  ! 
we've  lost  more  than  three  hours.  We  shall  be  too  late  —  too 
late ! " 

And  Aggy's  little  trot  became  faster.  It  was  surprising  how  the 
creature  compassed  the  ground,  never  once  stopping  to  walk,  but 
keeping  up  the  rapid  gait  with  which  she  started,  apparently  with 
out  fatigue,  certainly  without  cessation.  But  her  rider  was  by  no 
means  satisfied. 

"Oh!  that  I  had  wings!  I  shall  be  too  late!  Poor  Mat!  I 
warned  him  all  I  could.  I  saw  it  from  the  first.  Oh  !  tliat 
bad  company  !  That  first  false,  false  step  !  Why  did  I  counsel  him 
to  keep  away  from  the  Americans  !  Why  did  I  not  speak  to  him  in 
time  before  he  got  into  the  snares  of  that  wicked  old  man,  Rhodes  ! 
Oil  !  that  Molly  Floyd  had  never  seen  one  of  that  Rhodes 
family  !  All  wicked ;  all  murderers  and  robbers  from  the 
first  ! 

"  It's  all  my  fault !  Why  did  I  leave  him  that  night  at  Griffith's, 
and  go  to  sleep,  when  I  could  not  know  what  was  to  happen  — 
before  I  found  out  that  they  were  going  to  send  him  below  !  And 
how  stupid  it  was  to  follow  that  wicked  crew,  half  a  day,  with 
out  finding  out  that  Mat  wasn't  among  them.  It  is  all  my  sleep 
and  stupidity.  Oh,  me  !  if  anything  happens  to  him  I  shall  never 
sleep  again. 

"And  it  will  happen  to  him,  unless  I  can  get  there  in  time! 
21 


482  EUTAW. 

I  have  seen  it  again,  this  very  day,  that  terrible  picture  !  This 
time,  I  have  seen  him  on  the  fatal  gallows  !  Ah  !  God  of  mercy, 
let  it  not  be  so  !  — but  I  have  seen  it  !  Let  me  be  in  time  !  Hark  ! 
It  is  his  voice,  I  hear  him  !  He  cries  to  me  !  He  says  :  '  Save 
me,  Nelly,  my  sister  !  Come  to  me,  Nelly,  before  I  die  ! '  Yes  I 
will  come,  Matty,  I  will  !  Oh,  little  Aggy  !  how  slowly  you  do 
go!" 

And  she  smote  the  little  beast,  this  time,  sharply,  heavily,  with  all 
the  weight  of  her  arm.  And  she  rode  on  confidently,  not  heed 
ing  her  course,  though  she  had  never,  in  all  probability,  trodden  the 
route  before.  How  did  she  know  it  now  ?  AYhat  were  her  sources 
of  information  ?  How  had  she  learned  where  Mat  Floyd  was,  and 
in  what  danger  ?  Had  she  heard  it  from  the  lips  of  others  ;  or  does 
she  derive  her  information  solely  from  those  dreams,  those  visions, 
which  she  asserted  and  believed  herself  to  see  ?  Who  shall  tell  ? 
She,  herself,  tells  us  nothing  more  than  we  have  heard.  It  is  only  : 
' '  I  have  seen  it !  Oh  !  the  horror  !  The  doom  is  come  at  last !  It  is 
all  clearer,  fuller,  more  terrible  than  ever  !  " 

And  she  never  seemed  to  ask  herself  liow  she  was  to  save  the 
wretched  youth,  even  if  she  should  arrive  in  season.  On  this  sub- 
ject  she  seemed  not  to  reflect  at  all.  Her  only  object  was  to  reach 
the  scene  of  trial  and  of  dread,  and  all  the  rest  seemed  easy.  To  this 
one  end,  her  whole  effort  was  addressed.  This  employed  all  her 
thought.  The  entire  mind  seemed  intensely  concentrated  on  the 
single  point,  and,  perhaps,  fortunately  ;  for  how,  if  she  had  asked 
herself  the  next  question  —  how  shall  I  save  him,  now  that  lam 
here?  save  him  from  the  consequences  of  his  crime  —  the  robbery, 
if  not  the  murder  of  the  Adairs  —  for  of  the  latter  crime  he  declared 
himself  guiltless — save  him  from  the  terrible  weight  of  circumstantial 
evidence,  and  from  the  stern  judgment  of  the  military  tribunal  before 
which  he  is  tried?  —  how  should  she  have  answered?  It  maybe 
that  she  had  resources  in  reserve,  of  which  we  have  no  knowledge  ; 
but  the  probalities  are,  that  she  had  none,  but  her  tears  and  elo 
quence,  prayers  and  pleadings  ;  and  that  in  her  sanguine  eager 
ness  to  reach  the  scene,  she  entirely  overlooked  the  rest.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  a  providential  relief  to  her  brain  that  such  was  the 
case.  She  could  not  well  have  answered  or  endured  the  further 
inquiry 


HOW    NELLY    FLOYD    SPED   TO    SAVE    HER    BROTHER.    483 

But  as  she  rode,  as  fast  as  her  little  beast  could  be  made  to  go, 
stopping  never,  and  impatient  always  when  Aggy  seemed  disposed  to 
economize  his  little  legs. 

"  Oh!  go  on,  Aggy,  you  shall  have  a  long  rest  to-night!  " 

And  so,  for  more  than  twenty  miles,  she  sped,  right  on,  not 
even  pausing  to  drink  at  the  brooklet  as  it  ran  across  her  path. 
She  had  ate  nothing  all  day;  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
brief  period  in  which  she  had  been  detained  by  Sinclair,  she 
had  been  all  day  in  rapid  motion  upon  the  road.  She  was  now 
neariug  her  journey's  end,  and  her  excitement  vividly  increased 
with  her  weariness.  The  excitement  alone  sustained  her.  But  it 
wrought  terribly  upon  her  soul  as  well  as  countenance.  She  was 
haggard  with  fear  and  weakness.  She  momently  cried  aloud  her 
agonies. 

"Oh!  I  shall  be  too  late — too  late!  I  sec  it  all!  —  ah!"- 
with  a  fearful  shriek  — ' '  He  calls  me  again  —  again !  He  cries 
out  in  his  agonies.  Yes  —  a  moment  —  only  a  moment,  Mattie, 
and  I  will  come!  I  am  coming  fast  —  I  am  riding  hard.  I 
will  soon  be  with  you.  Wait,  oh!  wait.  I  am  coming 
fast!" 

And,  thus  shrieking,  as  if  she  heard  and  saw  —  as  if  he,  the 
victim,  could  also  hear  and  see  —  she  threw  out  her  hands  before 
her,  while  her  eyes  seemed  about  to  leap  from  their  sockets  in 
the  effort  to  overcome  the  weary  space  that  lay  between.  It 
was  now  approaching  sunset,  and  she  was  within  a  mile  of  the 
homestead  of  Devaux,  in  which  the  Adairs  had  been  murdered. 
And  it  was  there,  even  there,  that  the  awful  tradegy  of  justice 
wras  to  be  enacted.  A  military  tribunal  had  already  sat  in  judg 
ment  upon  the  miserable  prisoner.  He  'had  denied  all  share  in 
the  murder,  but  admitted  his  participation  in  the  robbery.  But 
his  own  pleas  could  avail  nothing.  The  court  found  him  guilty 
and  doomed  him  to  die  upon  the  gallows,  in  front  of  the  dwel 
ling  where  the  crime  had  been  committed.  So  shocking  had 
been  the  transaction,  so  intimate  had  been  the  British  officers 
with  the  poor,  old  weak,  vain  but  hospitable  victims,  that  the 
judgment  and  execution  were  equally  hurried.  The  trial  had 
taken  place  in  the  very  chamber  where  the  murder  had  been 
done;  and  from  the  court  to  the  gallows  there  was  but  a  step. 
The  culprit  doggedly  heard  his  doom  in  silence.  When  asked 


484  EUTAW. 

wlwt  he  had  to  say  —  why  he  should  not  die  for  the  crime  —  he 
answered:  — 

"  What  kin  I  say?  I  tell'd  you  a'ready.  I  did  not  kill  the  old 
people  I  didn't  strike  either  of  'em  a  blow.  'Twus  Gus  Clayton 
did  it.  I  wasn't  consenting  to  it  no  how;  and  ef  you  hangs  me 
for  the  doing  of  another  man,  it's  murder,  I  reckon.  I'm  willing 
to  swear  upon  the  Holy  Book,  that  I  never  struck  either  on  'em 
a  blow." 

Of  course,  he  shared  the  offense.  It  needed  no  argument  on 
this  subject,  even  if  they  admitted  the  truth  of  the  fellow's  state 
ment.  It  made  no  impression  upon  the  court.  There  was  no  voice 
of  dissent  from  his  doom,  and  he  was  led  out  in  five  minutes  after 
sentence  to  execution.  When  he  saw  the  gallows,  he  said,  with  a 
hoarse  sort  of  chuckle :  — 

"  You've  been  mighty  quick  about  it." 

There  was  no  answer.     His  tone  changed  slightly. 

"But  you  ain't  guine  to  hang  me  right  aw  ay!  You'll  give  me 
time  to  considerate  a  bit  —  a  few  days,  cappin  —  jest  a  few  days. 
You  ain't  a  guine  to  turn  a  man  out  into  the  dark,  and  never  let  him 
say  his  prayers." 

"Say  them  them  quickly.  You  have  but  ten  minutes  allowed 
you." 

"Only  ten  minutes.  Lord  God,  have  mercy.  You  give  a  man 
only  ten  minutes,  and  he  a  great  sinner.  Oh!  cappin,  you  don't 
know  what  a  sinner  I  'em." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"Oh!  then  be  inarciful  and  give  me  time,  jest  three  days  or  so, 
that  I  may  pray  for  niarcy  for  my  sins." 

"  You  must  do  all  this  in  ten  minutes,"  said  the  officer  taking  out 
his  walcli." 

"Oh!  Jesus!  It's  jest  what  Nelly  said.  It's  a  cappin  in  a  green 
uniform.  Oh!  Lord,  ef  I  had  only  hearn  to  Nelly.  And  Irpir  I 
am,  tied  up  like  a  bear  to  a  tree,  and  no  doing  nothing!  Oh!  cappin, 
won't  you  just  let  'em  ontie  my  arms.  This  rope  does  so  cut  into  the 
flesh." 

"  1'dicve  him,  if  it  needs,"  said  the  young  officer  to  one  of  the 
soldiers  "  But,  my  poor  fellow,  such  a  pain  must  be  small — you 
should  scarcely  feel  it,  with  your  life  forfeit,  and  to  be  lost  so 
soon." 


HOW  NELLY  FLOYD  SPED  TO  SAVE  HEK  BROTHER.   485 

"Ah  !  but  I  does  feel  it!  Ef  I'm  to  die,  I  want  to  die  as  easy 
us  I  kin.  The  rope  hurts  me  mightily." 

The  officer  seemed  to  commiserate  the  fellow's  condition — was, 
perhaps,  unused  to  the  painful  duty  before  him.  He  averted  his 
face  from  the  spectacle.  Meanwhile  the  soldier  was  busy  about 
the  cords  which  bound  the  prisoner. 

' '  But  he  ain't  outied  me !  cried  the  criminal. 

"No!  but  I  eased  the  tightness,"  answered  the  soldier. 

' '  But  kaint  you  ontie  me  ?  I  hain't  got  no  weapons.  What's 
to  be  afeard  of  ? " 

Had  the  miserable  creature  a  hope  ?  He  had,  indeed,  no 
weapon.  The  knife  which  was  to  save  him  from  the  rope  was 
no  longer  within  his  gripe.  He,  possibly,  relied  upon  his  wiry 
muscle,  and  great  agility  —  we  have  seen  it  exercised  once  be 
fore  when  he  was  in  a  similar  strait  —  should  he  obtain  the 
freedom  of  his  arms  —  in  the  desperate  use  of  his  heels,  when 
the  chance  was  that  they  would  have  shot  him  before  he  could 
be  taken.  And  they  might  miss  their  aim,  and  he  might  gain 
the  wood.  Such  was  probably  his  hope.  But,  perhaps,  sus 
pecting  the  criminal's  purpose,  the  young  officers  now  said 
sternly  : — 

"No,  sir;  you  can  not  be  untied.  Waste  no  time.  It  is 
precious  to  you  now.  Call  upon  God  with  all  your  might,  and 
all  your  heart." 

' '  Ef  you  could  get  me  a  parson  !  You  won't  hang  me  with 
out  a  parson,  to  help  me  a-praying?" 

"Your  demand  is  impossible.  There  is  no  clergyman  here. 
You  must  do  for  yourself  all  that  you  can.  Pray!  repent!  for 
you  have  but  three  minutes  left." 

"Three  minutes!  Lord  God,  ha'  marcy!  But  three  minutes 
and  I'm  to  be  a  dead  man.  I  won't,  I  won't  go  to  the  gallows. 
You  may  chop  me  to  pieces  but  I  won't  go!  It's  a  shame  to 
hang  a  man  dead,  in  three  minutes. 

"  We'll  do  for  you  in  less  time  than  that,"  said  the  provost- 
marshal,  who  was  an  old  soldier,  and  had  done  much  of  this 
sort  of  business  —  giving  the  sign  to  a  couple  of  stalwart  assist 
ants.  The  officer  put  back  his  watch  into  his  pocket.  In  an 
instant  they  seized  the  criminal  and  haled  him  away.  He 
fought  like  a  wild  beast,  plunging,  butting,  and  tossing  from 


186  EUTAW. 

Bide  to  side.  It  required  the  strength  of  twc  or  tLroe  other 
soldiers  to  subdue  and  bear  him  away  to  the  gallows  root,  and 
lift  him  into  the  cart  which  stood  below  it.  The  rope  was  ad 
justed  in  spite  of  his  struggles.  The  executioner  mounted  the 
ladder  and  arranged  it.  All  was  ready.  They  but  waited  for 
the  signal.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  prisoner  seemed  to  ba 
fully  conscious  that  every  chance  of  safety  and  escape  was  cut 
away. 

"  Lord  God  have  mercy  !  Don't !  don't  yet !  0  Lord,  have 
nercy  !  Look  out,  ef  you  don't  see  somebody  coming.  Some 
body's  coming,  I  tell  you.  Don't !  Ob,  Nelly,  wliar  kin  you 
be,  now,  when  I  wants  you  —  now,  when  the  time's  come  you 
said  ?  Come  and  help  me,  Nelly ;  come  and  save  me,  gal,  ef 
you  ever  did  love  —  ah  !  ah  ! — " 

And  the  sounds  ceased  in  a  horrid  gurgle.  The  cart  had 
passed  from  beneath  the  wretched  criminal,  and  he  hung  wri 
thing  miserably  in  the  aii 

A  mile  away,  those  last  words  seemed  to  reach  the  ears  of 
Nelly  Floyd !  She  cried  out,  at  that  very  instant :  "  I  am 
coming,  Mat  —  I  am  coming  !  0  Father  of  mercies,  help  me  to 
get  to  him  in  time !" 

And  poor  little  Aggy  was  made  to  keep  to  her  paces ;  and, 
in  less  than  twenty  minutes  after,  the  girl  was  upon  the  scene, 
her  horse  barely  bringing  her  to  the  spot,  then  staggering  for 
ward,  and  stumbling  with  both  knees  to  the  ground. 

Nelly  was  off  from  her  back  in  the  same  moment,  and  stand 
ing  upon  the  earth  herself,  staggering  blindly  forward  to  the 
group  of  officers  and  soldiers  upon  the  hill.  She  seemed  to  be 
blinded,  feeling  her  way  forward  confusedly  with  her  arms 
and  hands  extended,  while  tottering  up  toward  the  group. 
Suddenly,  she  looked  up  —  caught  a  sight  of  the  gallows  — 
of  the  victim,  whose  agonies  were  all  over  —  and,  with  a  wild 
shriek,  she  darted  forward  to  the  officer  in  command,  crying 
out : — 

"Take  him  down! — oh,  take  him  down! — Oh,  sir,  be 
merciful  to  me  !  Spare  him  !  —  Let  him  live  !  —  He  is  my 
brother!" 

"  It  is  too  late,  my  poor  girl !     He  is  dead  !" 

"  Who   speaks  ?"   site   cried,   more    wildly  than    ever. 


flOW    NELLY    FLOYD   SPM)   TJ    nAVE    HER    BIIOTHSK.        1^7 

oihcer  turned  his  glance  full  upon  hci  —  and  their  t  yes 
net! 

"  Sherrod  Nelson!"  —  with  a  piercing  shriek-  cried  the 
anhappy  girl  — "  oh,  Sherrod  Nelson,  you  have  my 

brother!" 

And,  with  arms  extended,  she  f*V  prostrate  at  his  ft**  ,pr\ 
her  face.  She  was  insensible. 


4:88  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

HOW   KELLY   FLOYD    DISAPPEAES. 

1^  was  no  mere  faint  into  which  Nelly  Floyd  had  fallen.  It 
was  swoon  —  it  was  trance!  Her  body  lay  insensible,  but  it 
kept  warm.  Her  pulse  scarcely  vibrated  to  the  .touch.  It  was 
doubtful  if  she  breathed.  For  eighteen  hours  did  she  lie  in  this 
condition.  A  surgeon  of  the  British  army  was  brought  up  from 
Monck's  Corner  to  see  her.  He  had  never  seen  so  curious  or 
remarkable  a  case.  He  studied  it  closely.  The  syncope  seemed 
perfect  and  general  as  prolonged,  yet  death  did  not  ensue.  The 
economy  of  life  was  going  on,  but  with  an  almost  total  suppres 
sion  of  all  external  evidence  of  life  —  and  how?  There  were 
no  tremors,  no  convulsions,  no  struggles,  no  breathings  !  To 
all  mere  casual  observation,  Nelly  Floyd  was  dead.  But  the 
surgeon  said  she  lived ;  but  that  nature,  overtasked  in  many 
ways,  and  suffering  from  peculiar  mental  as  well  as  physical 
conditions,  required  a  peculiar  process  of  recuperation. 

Meanwhile,  Sherrod  Nelso'n  gave  the  poor  girl  every  atten 
tion  which  it  was  in  his  power  to  bestow.  He  recognised  her 
as  the  special  favorite  of  his  mother ;  as  one  whom  his  only 
sister  had  passionately  loved  ;  as  one  whom  he  had  himself 
studied  with  curious  eyes  and  a  loving  interest,  us  n  creature  of 
great  sweetness  of  soul,  and  of  very  remarkable  powers.  He 
procured  a  good  old  woman  of  the  neighborhood  as  a  nurse. 
He  himself  watched  by  her  couch  for  hours,  as  a  sympathizing 
attendant,  The  surgeon  shared  his  watch,  studying  the  case 
with  all  the  interest  equally  of  science  and  humanity.  Sherrod 
Nelson  wrote  to  his  mother,  in  Florida,  giving  her  all  the  par- 


HOW    NELLY    FLOYD    DISAPPEARS.  489 

dciilars  He  wrote  while  Nelly  lay  lifeless  before  his  eyes. 
F.is  account  was  copious,  as  far  a«  he  knew.  The  picture  he 
drew  was  sufficiently  pathetic.  Already  had  he  conceived  the 
idea  of  sending  the  girl  on  to  his  mother,  in  Florida,  should  she 
recover  fr^n  her  swoon. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  of  the  next  day  before  she  did  show 
signs  of  consciousness.  Then  her  eyes  opened  to  the  light. 
She  looked  around  her.  She  spoke  only  a  few  words,  but  these 
were  intelligible. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  —  "  I  know." 

*\7hat  did  she  know  ?  The  surgeon  was  present  at  the  mo- 
isnt.  He  ordered  her  nourishment.  She  ate  a  little  gruel  — 
'hen  sank  away  into  sleep  once  more,  or  stupor,  murmuring 
feebly  as  she  dkl  so,  "  I  know  all  now  /" 

"  She  needs  nourishment,  and  soothing.  Let  there  be  no 
noise,  Watch  her  closely.  As  she  awakes,  supply  her  with 
a  little  gruel  —  a  little  only  at  a  time,  but  give  it  whenever  she 
awakes.  She  is  docilt,  and  that  is  fortunate." 

For  twelve  hours  more  they  watched  her,  feeding  her  thus 
whenever  she  ^ivoke  to  any  consciousness.  She  always  sub 
mitted —  always  ate  a  little,  and  again  seemed  to  sink  back  to 
.eep.  A  little  wine  wap  mingled  cautiously  with  her  gruel.  It 
strengthened  her.  Afte,  a  few  more  hours,  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  appeared  to  scan  the  apartment.  The  old  woman 
who  nursed  her  was  alone  present,  and  she  began  to  prattle 
with  the  usual  eloquence  of  ft»minine  antiquity.  But  Nellj 
waved  her  hand,  palm  outward,  as  if  commanding  silence ;  and 
the  nurse,  though  much  wondering  at  the  bad  taste  of  her  pa 
tient,  to  whom  she  was  disposed  to  deliver  all  the  news  of  the 
precinct,  was  perforce  hushed  by  the  action  into  stillness. 

Finding  her  patient  thus  doing  well,  and  ill  —  finding  that 
she  had  a  distaste  for  that  peculiar  sort  of  eloquence  with  which 
ehe  was  specially  gifted — the  old  woman  left  her  for  a  while, 
and  went  out,  seeking  companionship  among  the  soldiers  who 
were  quartered  in  the  kitchen,  and  better  prepared  to  do  jus- 
h'ce  to  her  gifts  of  speech.  There  she  found  supper  and  scan 
dal  in  equal  quantity,  and,  relishing  both  sorts  of  food,  she  lin- 
-ered,  perhaps,  rather  longer  away  from  her  patient  than  was 

together  prudent  for  a  nurse  to  do  —  but  which,  by-the-Avay, 


490  EUTAW 

a  nurse  is  rather  apt  to  do --and  .,..ot  she  got  back  to  tl« 
chamber,  was  confounded  to  find  Nelly  sitting  up. 

"To-bed —  to-bed  again!"  cried  the  daine.  "  WhatM  iLo 
doctor  say  ?  You'll  git  your  death  !  You  ain't  fi^  to  bo  setting 
up  after  the  long  swound  you've  lied"  —  and  she  p^t  forth  her 
hands  to  Focoui  her  words  -t  but  Nelly  was  docile,  and  at  onco 
submitted,  without  offering  resistance. 

"  Ah  !  you'll  do  !  That's  right.  Only  jest  mind  what's  told 
you,  and  what  the  doctor  says,  and  what  /  says ;  and  I  reckon 
in  a  month,  or  five  or  six  weeks,  you'll  be  able  to  go  about 
agin." 

"A  month!"  murmured  Nelly  to  herself.  "A  month!  It 
must  DC  done  long  before." 

"  What's  that  you're  a-saying,  my  gal  ?" 

"  Nothing,  mother  !  nothing." 

'*  She  calls  me  mother !  She  hain't  got  quite  back  into  her 
senses  yit." 

And  the  girl  lay  quiet,  and  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep  agait; ; 
and  was  aroused  only  at  certain  periods,  with  a  suggestion  c*f 
gruel.  The  next  day,  Sherrod  Nelson  came  with  the  surgeon, 
Nelly  heard  his  voice  as  he  entered  the  room.  She  shut  her 
eyes,  and  lay  quite  still.  The  surgeon  soon  had  his  finger  upon 
her  wrist. 

"  She's  a-sleeping  yit,"  said  the  nurse,  -  she  does  hardly  any 
thing  but  sleep,  except  when  I  routs  her  up  to  take  her  gruel. 
But  ii  the  night,  I  jist  went  out  for  a  minute,  and  when  I  comes 
back,  I  sees  her  a  setting  up  by  the  window.  I  had  her  back 
again,  I  tell  you,  in  the  twink  of  a  musquito." 

"  Ah  !  she  got  up,  did  she  ?"  said  the  surgeon.  "  Did  she 
say  anything  I" 

"  Something  to  fcer  ownself.  I  could  jist  hear  her  buzzing  n 
little  with  her  mouth  shet." 

"  She'll  do.  The  pulse  is  feeble,  but  even,  and  the  skin  is 
growing  less  rigid.  I  do  not  perceive  any  signs  of  pressure  on 
the  brain.  The  functions  are  going  on  naturally.  But  we  miuit 
avoid  noise,  and  forbear  all  provocation  to  excitement.  Twenty- 
four  hours  will  free  her(  if  she  keeps  on  thus,  of  all  doubtful 
wymptoms  But  she  has  had  a  terrible  shock,  nnd  the  forces  of 
rratwe,  for  awhile,  were  all  driven  in.  They  are  rallying  now. 


HOW   NELIA'    FLOYD    DISAPPEARS. 

l  he  shock  required  that  the  faculties  should  all  be  respited,  far 
awhile,  or  recuperation  would  have  been  impossible.  To'» 
know  her,  then,  Captain  Nelson  ?" 

"  Know  her  almost  as  a  sister.  She  lived  with  my  siste* 
Bettie,  and  myself,  for  years,  like  a  sister.  She  was  a  pet  of 
my  mother.  A  poor  orphan-girl,  whom  my  mother  festered  nt 
first  from  charity,  and  afterward  from  love.  She  was  alwa}  s  a 
strange,  wild  creature  —  all  impulse  —  yet  always  gentle,  even 
when  most  wild  —  full  of  fondness  for  all  of  us;  and  why  slift 
left  us  I  know  not.  There  was  no  reason  for  it,  that  any  one 
could  see.  My  mother  wept  bitterly  to  part  with  her,  and 
Bettie,  my  sister,  grieves  even  to  this  hour.  There  is  some 
mystery  about  the  poor  girl,  and  it  had  much  to  do  with  her 
quitting  us.  Several  times  my  mother  sought  to  find  her  ;  but 
she  seems  to  have  hidden  from  us.  The  war,  besides,  macif 
search  difficult,  particularly  as  we  were  loyalists,  and  were 
driven  out  for  two  years.  But  we  will  not  lose  her  now.  T 
have  written  to  my  mother,  who  is  in  Florida  still,  to  say  that  I 
will  get  her  down  to  Charleston  as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  travel 
Now  that  we  have  her,  she  shall  not  escape  us.  She  shall  le 
one  of  us  again.  Poor  girl,  what  has  she  not  endured.  Look 
at  her  garments.  How  strange !  How  squalid ;  yet  a  more 
sensitive  creature  —  a  more  delicate  —  dofs  not  live.  A  creature 
Df  wonderful  character  and  talent.  1  may  say,  in  fact,  a  genius." 

"  But  not  a  beauty,  captain." 

"  Perhaps  not !  and  yet,  I  have  seen  her  when  she  was  per 
iectly  beautiful  even  to  my  eyes,  and  my  standards  are  rathe* 
exacting.  When  animated,  she  is  brilliant,  if  not  beautiful  • 
but- — now  —  burnt  by  the  sun,  and  chafed  by  the  wind  —  poor; 
badly  clothed  —  perhaps,  half-starved  all  the  time,  it  is  only 
wonderful  that  she  preserves  so  much  of  her  former  sweetness 
of  countenance.  You  should  see  her  eye  whev  she  is  in  health 
*nd  heart,  Now !" 

"  Could  this  miserable  young  man  have  been  her  brother  ?" 

"  Such  was  certainly  her  speech  ;  but  I  doubt  the  connection 
She  had  probably  known  him  from  boyhood,  and  she  was  alwa\«i 
of  a  nature  to  attach  herself — '' 

"  Stay  !"  said  the  surgeon,  with  hand  upon  his  lips,  and  la  * 
wb'Rer.  "  She  stirs." 


402  EUTAW. 

They  had  spoken  beside  her  bed,  and,  though  in  very  low 
tones,  3'et  the  wakeful  senses  of  the  girl  had  caught  up  every 
syllable.  She  had  writhed  more  than  once  during  that  conver 
sation.  She  could  endure  it  no  longer.  She  showed  signs  of 
awakening,  and  the  surgeon  motioned  to  Nelson  to  leave  the 
room.  He,  himself,  only  lingered  to  feel  the  pulse  of  his  pa 
tient  once  more,  and  to  see  if  her  eyes  would  open.  But  they 
did  not.  She  was  conscious  that  Nelson  had  gone  out,  and  now 
lay  quiet. 

The  surgeon  soon  followed  the  young  captain  of  loyalists,  and 
joined  him  where  he  waited,  in  the  court  without. 

"She  is  again  quiet,"  said  the  surgeon,  anticipating  the  question 
of  the  young  man,  "  She  will  do  now,  1  think.  To-morrow,  we  shall 
find  her  a  great  deal  better." 

And  they  walked  off  together.  Sherrod  Nelson  was  busily  em 
ployed  all  day,  but  the  image  of  Nelly  Floyd  was  present  to  his  fancy 
all  the  while. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  thinking  to  himself,  "  Nelly  wns  beautiful.  She 
will  be  so  again  when  restored  to  health,  and  once  more  in  the 
dwelling  of  my  mother.  Why  did  she  leave  it  ?  We  all  loved 
her. 

"Yes!      I  loved  her.      But — " 

Sherrod  Nelson  hardly  yet  saw  into  his  own  heart.  He  had 
lived  a  little  too  much,  perhaps,  in  that  sort  of  world  which  is 
apt  to  obscure  one's  heart  from  one's  own  scrutiny.  He  had 
lived  in  a  conventional  world  —  one  of  fashion  —  was  himself 
something  of  "a  glass  of  fashion  and  a  mould  of  form;"  was 
wealthy,  and,  so,  the  "observed  of  all  observers"  —  was  petted 
by  the  young  women,  and,  occasionally  pressed.  Had  been  as 
near  to  seizure  by  some  of  the  desperate  of  the  sex,  as  over 
young  Adonis  before.  But  his  world,  out  of  his  mother's  house 
hold  had  been  a  sophisticating  one,  and  so  a  cooling,  hard 
ening,  and  selfishly-exacting,  not  self-sacrificing  world.  The 
army  was  a  bad  school,  also,  in  which  to  train  the  sensibilities; 
and,  in  spite  of  the  somewhat  peculiar  simplicity  and  natural 
ness  of  all  the  influences  of  home,  Sherrod  Nelson  was  no 
longer  a  person  to  obey  the  calls  of  the  heart  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  voices.  He  had  seen  Nelly's  beauty — felt  it  — 
admired  her  spirit,  grace,  sweetness,  talents;  but  —  Nelly  was 


HOW    NELl.r    FLOYD    DISAPPEARS. 

an  orphan  —  sprang  from  unknown  people  —  nay,  from 
too  well  known  —  and,  Sherrod  Nelson  had  lost  some  of  hit 
independence  of  soul,  in  his  sophistication.  Convention  is  a 
rare  subduer  of  real  courage,  at  least,  in  certain  provinces  where 
we  need  it  most. 

Nelly  Floyd  had  made  a  deep  and  vivid  impression  upon 
Sherrod  Nelson ;  but,  who  is  Nelly  Floyd  ? 

"  It  would  never  answer !"  the  young  man  muttered  to  him 
self  with  a  sigh,  as  he  thought  of  her. 

Yet,  how  nearly  had  he  approached  the  verge  of  that  preci 
pice,  which,  had  he  passed  —  what  would  the  world  say?  No! 
with  all  his  real  virtues,  affections,  and  natural  strength,  he 
could  never  brave  that  voice  of  vulgar  fashionable  opinion. 

Lose  caste  !  no  !  no  !  He  was  right.  "  It  would  never  an 
swer  for  him  !" 

And  such  also  was  the  conclusion  of  Nelly  Floyd. 

Sherrod  Nelson,  step  by  step,  had  approached,  with  his  own, 
bo  nigh  to  the  heart  cf  Nelly  Floyd  —  nay,  had  so  nearly 
s£  -ikcn  out,  from  his  own,  to  her  heart,  that  the  girl  started  up 
mto  sudden  consciousness  of  the  true  relations  between  them 
She  saw  all  —  all  in  a  moment.  She  saw  into  her  own  heart,  if 
not  his.  But  she  fancied  tha*  s!'.e  saw  into  his  also.  And, 
with  these  discoveries  —  with  this  consciousness  —  seeing  to  the 
remotest  consequences  —  she  suddenly  said  to  Lady  Nelson  : — 

"I  must  go  !"  and.  without  giving  any  adequate  reason — but 
showing,  fully,  by  h°r  distress  and  tears,  that  she  felt  the  neces 
sity  to  be  urgent,  she  went. 

Here  is  a  brief  history,  but  it  contains  volumes.  She  went 
—  and  Nelly  Floyd  never  met  with  Sherrod  Nelson  till  the  mo 
ment  when  &he  encountered  him  as  her  brother's  executioner. 

"  But  I  have  her  now  !"  he  repeated.  "  She  shall  not  escape 
me  again!"  And  satisried  on  this  score,  he  proceeded  to  his 
military  duties,  still  meditating  the  fate  of  the  girl  and  how  he 
should  dispose  of  her. 

Had  he  now  any  purpose  of  defying  convention  —  of  showing 
fo  the  world  that  his  faith  in  her  beauty  and  her  gifts  was  sit 
perior  to  the  requisitions  of  society  and  caste?  We  kno\\  not 
We  rear  not.  He,  perhaps,  simply  meditated  restor^'rig  hei  to  a 
more  *\t  ^eml  condition.  Enough,  that,  with  sotnr 


494  EUTAW. 

he  repeated  to  himself,  more  than  once,  throughout  the 
day  :— 

"  I  will  not  lose  her  now  !" 

But  he  knew  not  Nelly's  strength,  or  pride,  or  sensibility. 
That  night  old  Mrs.  Withers,  the  nurse,  went  forth,  as  usual, 
when  she  got  the  chance,  to  the  kitchen  which  the  soldiers  occu 
pied,  to  enjoy,  as  before,  her  scandal  and  supper.  She  left 
Nellie  Floyd  ''in  her  swound,"  as  she  called  it.  When  she  got 
back,  after  a  two  hours'  recess,  the  bird  had  flown — the  couch 
was  empty — though  still  warm.  Nellie  Floyd  was  nowhere  to 
be  found.  In  the  morning  it  wTas  discovered  also,  that  Agg}r, 
the  pony,  had  disappeared  about  the  same  time  with  his  mis 
tress.  They  must  have  gone  together.  Yet  how  had  she  found 
the  horse  ?  How,  in  her  weakness  contrived  to  saddle,  mount  him 
and  ride  away  ?  It  wras  shown  that  she  had  done  this. 

All  was  consternation.  Sherrod  Nelson  was  in  a  passion  of 
excitement.  He  could  have  torn  Mrs.  Withers  to  pieces. 
Search  was  made  about  the  neighboring  woods,  but  fruitlessly ; 
and  that  very  day,  vexed,  worried,  and  apprehensive,  the  young 
man  was  compelled  to  march  his  command  up  to  Eutaw,  where 
Stewart  had  already  arrived  with  the  grand  army. 

"  Where  was  Nellie  Floyd  ?  " 

"  Had  she  fled  a  maniac  ?    What  a  horrid  thought !  " 

Yet  that  horrid  thought  was  the  companion  of  our  young 
captain  of  loyalists  during,  and  long  after,  all  that  dreary  march  ! 

"Howling  in  the  woods,  great  God — A  maniac  !"  he  shuddered 
at  the  picture.  It  might,  indeed,  be  true. 

At  that  moment,  and  with  that  fear  filling  all  his  fancy,  Sher 
rod  Nelson  felt  that  Ellen  Floyd  was  more  dear  to  him  than  all  the 
world  of  fashion.  But  the  terrible  sway  of  that  conventional  realm 
in  which  he  had  been  trained  !  It  needs  every  now  and  then, 
some  terrible  event  to  shock  it  back  into  humanity  ! 


THE   CAPTIVES   JTtiET-— FATHER    AND    DAUGHTEB. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

THE    CAPTIVES    MEET  —  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER. 

WHILE  these  events  are  in  progress,  determining  the  fates  of 
some  of  the  minor  personages  in  our  drama,  what  of  those  who 
claim  a  higher  place  in  our  regards  ?  What  of  the  loving  and 
beautiful  Bertha  Travis  1 

We  have  heard  of  her  abduction  by  the  brutal  ruffian  with 
the  horrid  nom  de  nique.  We  are  also  aware  of  the  motives,  by 
which  he  was  governed,  in  this  audacious  procedure.  He  was 
too  coarse  a  scoundrel,  to  suppose  that  any  very  serious  griev 
ance  would  result  to  his  victim,  by  her  enforced  marriage  with 
a  person  of  good  figure  arid  agreeable  deportment.  It  is  true, 
he  gave  Captain  Inglehardt,  whom  he  knew  quite  as  well  as 
anybody  else,  but  little  credit  for  qualities  of  heart,  or  sensibil 
ities  of  any  kind.  But  this  deficiency  he  counted  as  of  far  less 
.mportance  to  women,  than  to  men ;  for,  it  must  be  confessed, 
that,  like  thousands  of  people  much  more  polished,  Dick  of 
Tophet  regarded  woman  as  a  creature  designed  only  to  minister 
to  the  more  lordly  sex,  when  the  moods  of  the  latter  required 
her  attendance.  His  philosophy  was  very  much  that  of  the 
young  French  princess,  who,  when  asked  by  the  reverend  abbe 
— -a  question  of  the  catechism,  no  doubt  —  "  What  were  women 
made  for?" — answered,  with  equal  naivete  and  humility  —  "To 
please  the  gentlemen,  sir."  This  was  precisely  the  notion  of 
our  Dick  in  contemplating  the  uses  of  the  sex.  Dick  was  some 
thing  of  a  Turk  in  his  religion  and  a  savage  in  his  philosophy. 

Now,  as  it  was  his  own  desire,  just  then,  to  phase  Captain 
Liglehardt,  he  was  not  prepared  to  suppose  it  any  great  hard- 
abi|  — iifUoted  on  Bertha  Travis  —  if  she  were  required  to  do 


406  EDTAV. 

.ikewise.  But.  we  have  already  noted  all  his  self-conceived 
arguments  on  this  subject.  We  must  do  him  the  justice  to  in 
sist,  however,  that  his  chief  motive  lay  in  the  idea  which  he  en 
tertained,  that  the  capture  of  the  sister  would  lead  directly  to 
the  release  of  the  brother  from  captivity.  Even  as  he  rode,  the 
reflection  occurred  to  his  mind,  and  escaped  his  lips,  in  a  mur 
mur  of  self  complacency. 

"  I'll  git  the  young  sodger  out  of  the  harness,  f  likes  that 
fellow  mightily." 

When  we  consider  Dick's  peculiar  philosophy,  v/e  are  pre 
pared  to  make  some  allowances  for  his  violations  of  law;  which 
the  world  is  very  apt  to  do,  you  are  aware,  in  the  case  of  per 
sons  in  better  condition,  for  whom  less  allowance  ought  to  be 
made. 

Bertha  was  treated  with  all  possible  tenderness  consistent 
with  the  outrage  of  which  she  was  the  subject  Dick  of  Tophec 
was  as  deferential  as  he  could  well  be,  to  a  lady  who  was  des 
tined  to  be  the  wife  of  his  superior.  He  used,  needfully,  only 
that  degree  of  violence  which  was  necessary  to  secure  and  carry 
off  his  captive.  She  was  treated  with  much  more  tenderness 
than  Carrie  Sinclair.  But  she  was  made  to  ride.  Lifted  upun 
the  steed  that  was  to  bear  her  away,  and  maintained  upon  the 
saddle  by  the  iron  gripe  of  Dick  himself,  she  was  kept  some 
hours  in  as  rapid  motion  as  the  difficulties  of  the  forests,  during 
a  night  journey,  and  through  blind  roads,  would  allow ;  and 
was  finally  lifted  from  her  horse,  at  midnight,  in  a  state  of  par 
tial  insensibility,  carried  into  one  of  the  log-cabins  of  Muddicoat 
Castle,  and  was  laid  gently  down  upon  a  rude  mattress  of  moss, 
while  Dick  of  Tophet  went  forth,  we  may  suppose,  in  search  of 
assistance.  Before  he  returned,  the  damsel  recovered  her  COH 
sciousness  and  found  herself  alone  and  in  utter  darkness.  We 
may  conceive  the  horrors  and  apprehensions  which  filled  her 
niiid.  She  was  left  to  brood  with  these  for  more  than  "an  hour 
When  Dick  reappeared,  he  brought  with  him  a  lighted  tallow 
oandle,  stuck  in  a  bottle,  which  he  set  down  upon  the  floor, 
The  apartment  had  neither  chair  nor  table,  nor  was  there  win 
dow  or  chimney  in  it.  It  was,  in  so  many  words,  a  strong  dun 
geon  of  heavy  logs,  with  but  a  single  door  which  might  be  barrer 
within,  and  loako'i  upon  the  outside.  There  was  a  trap  in  <li» 


THE    CAPTIVES    MEET — FATHER    -VXD    DAUGHTER.         -*9T 

Soor,  leaving  a  means  of  escape  below;  but,  of  course,  tins  was 
a  secret,  kept  closely  by  those  who  possessed  the  fortress. 

Bertha's  courage  came  to  her  promptly  enough  with  the  10 
turn  of  her  consciousness;  and  this  she  had  only  lost  for  a  short 
time,  and  through  sheer  fatigue  and  exhaustion  and  not  from 
fright.  She  demanded  of  the  ruffian  in  calm,  resolute  language, 
what  was  designed  by  this  deprival  of  her  liberty.  His  answer 
—  no  doubt  designed  to  be  very  civil  'and  encouraging  —  was, 
however,  verJfUittle  consoling  or  satisfactory. 

"  Oh  !  don't  you-  be  skeared  now,  young  madam  ;  'tain't  no 
'aarm  that  we're  a-guine  to  do  to  you.  We  don't  mean  to  do 
anything  to  you,  but  jest  to  make  you  a  happy  woman,  as  young 
ladies  likes  to  be  made  happy,  and  thar's  but  one  way  for  that, 
you  know !" 

To  other  demands  of  the  young  girl,  the  answers  were  equally 
vague  and  unsatisfactory.  Dick  again  disappeared,  and,  after 
the  lapse  of  half  an  hour  more,  he  returned  with  a  bowl  of  coffee 
and  a  hoe-cake. 

"  You  hain't  had  your  supper  to-night,  young  madani  and  1 
reckon  you'd  like  a  bite  of  something." 

"  I  wish  nothing  but  my  freedom,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  that  you  kaint  hev  just  now,  and  freedom's  hut  a 
poor  sort  of  feeding,  onless  you  kin  find  something  more*  solid 
to  send  down  aloutr  w^ith  it  —  and  ef  you're  sensible,  you'll  do  a 
leetle  eating  jest  now,  an.d  whenever  you  kin  git  it,  ef  it's  only 
to  keep  up  your  strength  agin  the  coming  of  the  freedom,  you 
knows!" 

In  this  particular  Dick's  philosophy  is  not  wanting  in  good 
sense.  Our  poor  Bertha  was  not  disposed  to  deny  it ;  b^t  she 
could  not  then  have  swallowed  a  mouthful  on  any  account.  She 
forbore,  and,  ID  silence,  beheld  her  captor  set  down  the  coffee 
and  the  hoe-Cc*£e  beside  the  lamp  upon  the  floor  Giving  her 
another  urgent  counsel  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  strong  —  if  not 
merry,  Dick  left  her  agaii  to  her  melancholy  meditations. 
She  heard  him  carefully  lock  the  door  without ;  and  he  ap 
peared  to  her  no  more  that  night. 

Btt  he  visited  her  brother.  He  soon  found  his  way  to  the 
flpr  of  the  Trailer,  on  whom  had  devolved  the  entire  govern 
ment  of  Muddicoat  Castle  during  the  absence  of  Inglehardt  • 


EUTAW. 

and  found  no  difficulty  in  persuading  the  former  —  who  had 
gone  to  bed  after  a  carouse  which  left  him  exceedingly  ohliv 
ions  of  duty  —  to  a  surrender  of  his  keys.     Poor  Henry  Travis 
started  up  with  a  sense  of  pleasure  and  society,  when  he  beheld 
the  grim  visage  of  our  Dick  peering  into  his  dungeon. 

»•  Well,  little  sodger,  how  does  you  git  on  here  in  the  dark  ?*' 

"  Oh !  I'm  so  weary !" 

"  And  hungry  too,  I  reckon.' 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  never  get  a  quarter  as  much  as  I  can  eat  " 

14 1  reckoned  so !  I've  brought  you  a  few  bites,  young 
sodg'er,"  continued  the  ruffian  taking  a  small  bag  from  under 
his  arm,  and  displaying  the  browned  corn  biscuits  —  half  a  peck 
at  least — which  lie  required  the  boy  to  put  away  in  his  hiding- 
place — limiting  him,  at  the  moment,  to  a  single  oiscuit,  which 
the  boy  devoured  greedily. 

"  Now,  look  you,  my  lad,  you  mustn't  be  too  free  in  your  eat 
ing.  You  must  make  these  go  jest  as  fur  as  possible ;  'caise, 
you  see,  I'm  off  to-morrow,  and  I  don't  know  when  I  shill  git 
back.  Thar's  hot  work  before  us  soon,  I  reckon ;  and  it  mout 
be  that  I'll  never  git  back  agin  !  It's  a  chaince  I  may  git  a 
taste  of  what's  a-guine,  when  tliar's  a  thousand  bullets  at  one 
time  a-brushing  through  the  air." 

"  Is  it  a  battle  ?"  demanded  Henry  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  it's  a-coming,  from  what  I  sees  and  hyars ;  a 
right  r'yal  battle ;  big  armies  o'  both  sides  and  cannon  a-thun- 
oering !" 

"  Oh  !  can't  you  get  me  out  ?" 

"  "VTell,  not  jest  yet :  but  the  chainces  for  you  are  a-gittmg 
bettor,  sence  to  night ;  and  I  reckon  'twon't  be  long  before  I 
gits  you  a  discharge.'1 

"  In  timi.  to  see  the  battle  ?" 

"  May  be  !  kaint  say  !  we'll  see  to-morrow.  I've  got  a  sar- 
cuinvention  a-foot,  t'lat,  I  reckon,  will  help  you  out  of  the  tim 
bers.  So  don't  be  down  in  the  mouth  ;  but  pick  up,  and  hev  a 
good  heart,  and  you  may  see  sights  of  fine  fighting  before  many 
days,  Ef  things  go,  jest  now,  as  I  wants  'em  —  and  I've  got 
'em  fair  upon  the  right  track  —  I  reckon  I'll  bring  yor.  good 
news  afore  long.  So,  be  spry,  and  keep  cheery,  and  ready 


, 

fo] 


THE    CAPTIVES   MEET  —  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER.         499 


r  a  spring,  and  a  liop,  skip,  and  jump.  The  time's  a  coining 
to  give  you  a  cliaince  agin." 

"Oh!  I  shall  be  so  glad!  and  I'll  never  forget 'you!  never! 
Shall  I  read  to  you,  Mr.  Dick  ?" 

"  Not  to-night.  You  wants  all  the  night  you  kin  hev  for 
sleeping.' 

"  No  !  Day  and  night  are  all  one  to  me  here  !  I  sleep  all 
the  time,  I  believe." 

"  Well,  young  sodger,  I  reckon  you  doesn't  see  much  light 
any  time,  only  when  I  comes.  I'd  like  to  hyar  a  leetle  of  the 
book  to-night,  but  I'm  a-wanting  a  leetle  sleep  myself.  My 
eyes  are  a-drawing  straws  mighty  fast." 

"  But  won't  you  leave  the  book  with  me,  Mr.  Dick,  to  read 
when  I'm  by  myself?" 

"  Leave  the  book  1  No  !  I  kaint  do  that.  Ef  you  knowed 
how  I  come  by  this  book,  you'd  understand  that  I'm  nev».r  to 
part  with  it.  It's  come  to  me,  I  may  say,  from  the  dead.  It's 
out  of  the  fingers  of  a  dead  man  that  it's  w.me  into  mine ;  and 
thyar's  bad  luck  to  me  ef  I  let's  it  go  out  of  m}  hands.  I  keeps 
it  always  in  my  buzzom,  young  sodger,  to  keep  off  the  bullets." 

"  And  you  think  'twill  do  that  ?" 

"  I  knows  it !  Oh  !  ef  you  knowed  the  history  of  this  book  ! 
But  I  kaint  tell  you '  And  so  g;ood  night,  young  sodger,  and 
den':  git  out  o'  heart .  I  shain'irforgit  you  !'' 

The  next  day  brought  Inglehardt.  His  visits  to  Muddicoat 
Castle,  though  at  intervals  in  his  foraging  duties,  were  always 
timed  ;  so  that  Dick  o»*  Tophf.t  knew  pretty  well  at  what  periods 
to  find  him.  Indeed,  there  WHS  a  concert  in  their  arrangements 
which  enabled  our  captain  of  loyalists  frequently  to  compare 
notes  with  Ms  striker,  the  better  to  carry  on  the  complicated 
business  in  which  they  were  engaged.  Dick  of  Tophet  awaited 
his  coming. 

Inglehardt  was  not  in  the  best  of  humors.  His  fortunes  had 
felt  some  reverses.  His  disappointments  had  been  frequent  of 
iate.  He  had  been  roughly  handled  by  Lee's  cavalry,  and  had 
made  a  narrow  escape  with  his  own  life,  losing  a  fifth  of  his 
squad,  and  certain  wagons  in  which  there  had  been  stored  away 
some  valuable  little  pickings  of  his  own,  the  fruit  of  a  raid  IL 
a  suspected  ivhig  had  lost  his  plate,  and  stork  and  a  le^- 


5~.)  BUT  AW. 

negroes  The  stock  had  found  their  way  to  the  British  com 
missary  :»t  Orangebarg;  the  negroes  had  been  safely  yielded 
1,0  the  hairls  of  Griffith  ;  the  silver  plate  had  been  in  that  un- 
lacky  wagon  which  the  dragoons  of  Lee  had  picked  up  by  the 
way.  Inglehardt  had  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  Fortune  OP 
many  accounts. 

He  now  began  also  to  conceive  very  awkward  misgivings  an 
to  the  result  of  the  war.  If  this  should  terminate  favorably  for 
the  Americans,  death  or  exile  stared  him  in  the  face.  These 
('angers  he  could  only  escape  by  going  over,  in  season,  to  the 
patriots ;  a  practice  now  becoming  rather  frequent,  since  the 
same  sign  that  oppressed  Iriglehardt's  imagination,  had  appeared 
equally  impressive  to  that  of  other  loyalists;  and,  since  the 
policy  of  Rutledge,  which  welcomed  every  prodigal's  return, 
had  shown  them  an  easy  process  for  reconciling  themselves  to 
the  power  which  they  had  offended. 

But  Inglehavdt  ',ould  not  attempt  this  policy  with  safety,  so 
long  as  he  reui;<>aed  unreconciled  with  the  Travis's ;  and  for 
this  reconciliation  there  was  but  one  process  —  the  marriage,  no 
matter  how  brought  about,  with  Bertha.  Once  united  with  her. 
by  whatever  process,  the  father  was  almost  necessarily  silenced  ; 
and  the  rest  was  comparatively  easy.  Inglehardt  was  growing 
desperate,  and  resolved  to  stick  at  no  measures  which  wy.ild 
secure  him  his  desired  objects.  The  first  grand  necessity,  there 
fore,  was  to  obtain  the  hand  of  Bertha  Travis.  What  was  hia 
triumph,  therefore  —  the  exultation  of  his  mood  —  when  his 
brutal  emissary  apprized  him  that  the  victim  was  already  in  his 
power. 

In  a  few  brief  words  the  facts  of  her  abduction  were  all  com 
municated  ;  and,  in  the  first  eager  impulse  of  his  satisfaction,  he 
hurried  aAvay  to  the  cabin  where  Bertha  was  confined,  to  gloat 
upon  the  beauties  of  his  captive,  and  to  make  her  feel  the  ex 
tent  of  his  triumph. 

Bertha  had  passed  a  dreary  night.  She  had  snatched  a  few 
hours  of  broken  slumber;  nature  having  asserted  her  necessi 
ties,  in  defiance  ot  the  brooding,  sleepless,  and  troubling  thought. 
But  it  was  only  in  snatches  that  she  slept.  Her  candle  had 
burnt  cut.  She  lay  in  utter  darkness — no  ray  from  without 
wer  penetrating  thai  dungeon,  unless  in  the  bright  sunshine  of 


THE    CAPTIVES    MEET-     FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER.        r>0l 

day,  when  small  faint  gleams  might,  here  and  there,  be  caught, 
as  they  trickled  through  the  crevices  of  the  cabin.  Whenever 
she  waked,  daring  the  night,  she  could  hear  the  chant  of  frog? ; 
and,  at  intervals,  the  hoarse  bellow  of  the  cayman.  By  these 
she  knew  that  she  was  buried  in  some  dismal  swamp  ;  but  where, 
in  what  quarter,  she  could  not  conjecture.  She  awoke,  finally, 
conscious  of  the  daylight.  There  were  certain  little  fine 
streaks  of  sunlight  that  trembled  through  seams  between  the 
logs,  and  glided  timidly  about  the  dusky  chamber.  These  en 
abled  her  to  see,  at  least,  that  it  was  daylight. 

There  is  no  describing  the  horror  and  suffering  of  her  soul. 
When  she  thought  of  her  mother  —  of  the  grateful  circle  from 
which  she  had  been  torn  away  —  she  could  have  wept  bitterly, 
but  that  the  agony  was  too  deep  for  tears.  She  never  doubted, 
for  a  moment,  that  she  was  in  the  power  of  Inglehardt ;  and  it 
was,  accordingly,  no  surprise  to  her,  when  he  presented  himself 
before  her.  She  received  him  with  all  the  calm  of  soul  which 
she  could  command.  Her  scorn  of  him,  the  sense  of  wrong  and 
brutal  usage,  all  contributed  to  increase  and  strengthen  the 
natural  dignity  of  her  bearing  and  manner. 

"  I  am  rejoiced,"  said  Inglehardt,  not  able  to  conceal  his  ex 
altation,  but  still  speaking  in  the  cool,  slow,  indifferent  manner 
which  vas  natural  to  him.  "  I  am  rejoiced  to  welcome  Miss 
Travis  to  my  humble  refuge  in  the  swamp." 

"  I  am  then  your  prisoner  S" 

"  Oh,  no  !  not  a  prisoner  —  why  prisoner  ?  say  guest,  my  dear 
Miiss  Travis,  an  honored  guest." 

"  An  unwilling  one,  sir,  as  you  know.  As  a  guest,  I  am  free 
to  depart  ?" 

"What!  would  you  go  without  seeing  your  father  —  your 
brother?" 

"My  father! — my  brother!  It  is  here,  then,  that  you  als:> 
keep  them  prisoners." 

"  They  are  here,  and  I  confess  they  enjoy  less  freedom  than 
1  can  accord  to  you,  and  for  sufficient  reasons.  They  are  pris 
oners  of  state,  under  heavy  charges." 

Bertha  smiled,  but  with  some  effort.  But  she  felt  all  tb.e 
•*ct^*i  which  her  smile  expressed. 

Tng-leliardt,"  she  said,  with  MS  much  of  quiet  dignity 


602  EUTAW. 

and  calm  as  she  could  command,  "you  have  a  pretext  for  hold- 
ing  my  father  and  my  brother  in  captivity.  Have  you  any  fur 
detaining  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  prompt//,  "you  are  here  to  fulfi.  a  soixmo 
contract  which  your  fa*-r*r  has  made  in  your  behalf.'' 

"  Proceed,  sir,  the  oa^xi-o  of  this  contract  1" 

"  Your  hand  in  marriage." 

''  With  yourself,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  sir,  as  my  father  could  not  justly  dispose  of  my  hand 
in  any  such  contract,  and  as  I  have  no  inclination  to  do  so,  you 
will  see  that  I  am  brought  here  to  no  end-  I  beg  to  assure  you 
that,  under  no  circumstances,  «hall  you  ever  have  my  hand." 

"You  are  precipitate.  You  are,  perhaps,  quite  ignorant  of 
the  vital  necessity  which  .-:/,ts  foi  your  compliance  with  that 
contract.  Let  me  put  you  \  possession  of  the  good  and  suffi 
cient  reasons  why  you  should  adopt  another  resolution." 

Here  he  gave  a  rapid  summary  of  her  father's  offences  against 
the  crown  —  his  treacheries  and  defalcations  —  sparing  nothing, 
suppressing  nothing,  and  making  the  picture  as  odious  as  he 
could.  He  concluded  : — 

"  You  have  heard.  For  either  of  these  offences,  once  in  the 
hands  of  Colonel  Balfour,  your  father  would  perish  on  the  gal 
lows.  I  have,  in  my  keeping,  the  proof  of  all  his  crimes.  It 
is  by  my  forbearance  that  he  lives ;  it  is  through  me,  only,  that 
he  can  escape ;  and  I  am  only  to  be  moved  to  favor  his  escape, 
and  to  the  suppression  of  these  proofs,  by  your  compliance  with 
the  tenor  of  his  contract." 

The  maiden  heard  him  patiently  throughout.  When  he  ^ad 
finished,  she  said: — 

"  Now,  sir,  hear  me.  Not  a  word  of  all  this  do  I  belie\  * 
Not  a  word  that  you  can  say,  calculated  to  lessen  my  self- 
respect,  my  respect  for  my  parents,  or  my  scorn  for  you,  will 
avail  you  anything !  I  am  armed  against  all  your  representa 
tions  by  a  thorough  knowledge  of  your  character." 

Inglehardt  reddened.  Her  coolness  confounded  him  no  less 
than  her  scorn.  She  was  quite  as  deliberate  as  himself;  showed 
HO  sort  of  impatience,  10  eagerness,  m  excitement,  but  deli vei»?«i 
herself  precisely  as  it  engaged  in  the  least  important  iiita"**" 


THE   CAPTIVES   MEET  •-- FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER,        60*, 

21  the  world  — precisely,  indeed,  as  if  .she  were,  as  she  said,  quite 
insensible  and  invulnerable  to  every  utterance  from  his  lips 

"You  may  believe  my  words  or  not,  Miss  Tra/is,  but  you 
can  not  resist  the  proofs  which  I  shall  offer." 

•'  Captain  Inglehardt,  the  proofs  which  you  may  offer  will  no 
hiore  affect  rue  than  your  words.  I  believe  that  you  arc  a  per 
son  who  can  find  it  as  easy  to  manufacture  the  one  as  to  pro 
nounce  the  other  " 

The  cool,  phlegmatic,  snuff-taking  deliberative  felt  himself 
growing  angry.  It  was  with  some  effort  that  he  kept  his  tem 
per  iii  subjection.  He  said  :  — 

"  But  your  father's  confessions  ? — 

"  He  has  made  none  to  me.  Received  through  you,  I  hold 
them  to  be  no  l«ess  false  than  your  words  and  manufactured 
proofs.  It  will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  hear  his  confession 
from  \  is  own  lips." 

The  girl  spoke  promptly,  but  she  evidently  so  bridled  her 
self  as  to  say  not  a  syllable  more  in  response  than  the  speech 
of  her  enemy  seemed  to  require.  Inglehardt  looked  at  lior 
with  almost  demoniac  aspect.  His  artifice  was  baffled.  H;3 
own  phlegm  seemed  for  once  to  become  accessary  to  his  defeat. 
In  his  roused  and  angry  mood,  he  seized  her  by  the  wriut. 
She  flung  him  off  with  revulsion.  He  approached  her  —  b.s 
hissed  in  her  ears  : — 

"  You  believe  me  unscrupulous  !  You  believe  that  I  wouH 
invent  a  lie,  and  manufacture  proofs  to  sustain  it  !" 

"  Yes  !"  was  the  fearless  answer. 

"Then,  if  you  believe  this,  do  you  not  feel  that  Ji^.s.,  m  m\, 
power  —  in  this  swamp-fastness  —  with  no  help  wi'A .:  ,,  ar  1  no 
succor  from  without  —  the  same  unscrupulous  pow.',r  <  IT)  ?•  tbject 
you  to  trials  even  more  fearful  than  the  sacr'fj  <;<  fa'V^: 
and  brother?  I  am  prepared  for  these  and  otlu  3  '.it',  ities- 
1/repared  for  any  use  of  my  power  —  to  secure  ns  or;;  .ct;  an? 
I  will  use  the  worst,  before  I  suffer  myself  tc  Ve  br/;'ed  in  th 
me  purpose  upon  which  I  have  set  my  wil'  i  "  )Q  ;  ou  undv- 
stand  me  ?  Do  you  feel  ilie  fidl  force  of  Vil  I  guy  ]  Do  you 
see  that  you  are  at  my  mercy  —  that  you  "navr.  n  >  hope  but  in 
my  mercy  —  and  that,  if  you  are  unmoved  by  tears  for  the 
salwty  of  your  father  and  your  brother,  there  ar?  uenilties 


504: 


EUTAW. 


more  terrible,  which  the  young  virgin  may  well  tremble  to  incur  ! 
Do  you  comprehend  me  now,  Miss  Travis  ? " 

"Ay,  as  I  comprehend  the  snake  that  hisses,  the  wolf  that 
howls,  the  vulture  that  shrieks  in  air !  I  comprehend,  but  I 
fear  you  not.  I  believe  in  God !  It  is  with  His  permission 
only  that  you  can  harm  me  ;  and,  if  He  wills,  l)o  it  so  !  But  with 
no  will  of  mine  shall  you  obtain  one  triumph  over  .my  feelings, 
my  fears,  my  honor,  or  my  hate  !  Reptile  !  I  spurn  you  with  equal 
scorn  and  loathing." 

And  he  left  h'er — stung  and  maddened — and  proceeded  in 
stantly  to  the  dungeon  of  her  father.  Whence  had  she  that 
strength  which  she  exhibited — that  fearlessness  of  soul,  which 
contemned  the  obvious  force  of  all  his  threats  and  arguments  ? 
GOD  !  He  sneered  at  the  piety — weakness  rather — which  professed 
such  a  source  of  reliance  ! 

When  he  had  gone  from  sight,  Bertha  sank  upon  her  knees,  and, 
even  while  she  prayed  for  succor,  her  hand  unconsciously  found  its 
way  into  her  bosom,  and  made  sure  grasp  upon  the  little  ivory- 
hilted  daggar  which  she  had  worn  from  the  moment  when  she 
began  her  journey,  and  so  well  concealed,  that  her  captors  never 
once  suspected  her  possession  of  it. 

On  his  way  from  the  dungeon  of  Bertha  to  that  of  her  father, 
Inglehardt  summoned  Dick  of  Tophct  to  his  side,  and  gave  him 
some  instructions. 

"At  once,"  said  the  superior,  "she  shall  be  made  to  see  with 
her  own  eyes — hear  with  her  own  ears  !  They  shall  make  music 
for  one  another  with  their  mutual  groans  !  "  And,  so  speaking,  he 
went  forward. 

In  the  dungeon  of  Travis,  he  found  the  father  not  a  whit 
more  tractable  than  he  had  left  the  .daughter.  In  fact,  Travis, 
from  exhaustion,  excitement,  bad  fare,  darkness,  and  his  own 
gloomy  thoughts,  had  reached  a  desperate  sort  of  mood,  which 
seemed  to  render  him  wholly  reckless  of  all  that  might  happen.  It 
was  hardly  politic  to  appeal  any  longer  Jo  his  fears.  He  seemed 
to  have  survived  them  all.  When  luglehardt  threatened  him  with 
the  terrors  of  the  British  authorities,  and  the  death  of  a  traitor,  he 
almost  shouted  in  reply  : — 

"  The  sooner  the  better  !     Any  fate  is  preferable  to  this." 

"  Now,"  he  said  sharply,  seeing  his  enemy  enter : — 


THE    CAPTiVEo    MEET—  FATHER 


'  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  now  ?     An}    change   in   tho 
bin  Jen  of  the  old  son<j?" 

"Yes  !"  answered  the  other,  with  some  elevation  of  his  voice, 
and  less  deliberation  than  usual  —  "yes,  I  am  happy  to  tell  you 
that  your  deliverance  is  at  hand." 

"  It  is  enough  that  you  tell  it,  to  assure  me  that  it  is  a  lie ! 
But  I  care  not  for  deliverance.  Unless  you  come  to  carry  my 
out  to  execution,  get  away  and  leave  m  .  to  mywlf.  Your  pres 
ence  is  disagreeable  to  me." 

A  week  before,  he  would  have  said  loathsome.  horribJe,  fright 
ful  —  anything  but  disagreeable  ! 

"  Well,  I  make  some  sacrifices  of  taste  myself  when  I  look 
upon  yours!"  answered  the  other,  with  a  sneer.  "You  are 
scarcely  as  considerate  of  you"  toilet,  at  Muddicoat  Castle,  as 
you  were  at  Holly-Dale." 

And,  in  truth,  Travis  hud  oecome  frightful  to  behold.  His 
hair  and  beard,  long  and  grizzly,  had  not  felt  comb  or  brush  for 
weeks.  His  dress  was  ragged,  and  hung  loosely  upon  his  ema 
ciated  person.  His  cheeks  were  pale,  thin,  bloodless;  while 
his  protruding  teeth,  from  lips  that  seemed  to  be  all  the  time 
parted,  gave  a  frightful,  wolfish  look  to  the  expression  of  his 
face,  which,  to  other  eyes,  would  have  made  him  seem  terrible 
rather  than  ridiculous. 

"Get  away  —  get  hence!  Do  not  trouble  me.  I  tell  you1'' 
was  the  answer  of  Travis  to  the  sneer  of  Inglehardt.  It  was  a 
sort  of  reply  to  surprise  him.  It  betrayed  a  considerable  change 
of  mood  and  moral  from  the  time  of  their  last  interview,  no*  a 
week  before. 

"  Get  hence  !     You  bore  me." 

'  Have  you  seen  your  son  lately,  Captain  Travis?" 

1  Yes,  to  be  sure !     They  bring  him  here  every  day." 

"  Well,  does  he  improve  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  1     How  the  d — 1  should  either  of  ne  h* 
prove  in  your  bands,  and  upon  your  lean  diet !" 

"You  are  satisfied,  however,  with  his  appearance?" 

"Get  hence,  I  say!  If  you  propose  to  torture,  you  hat* 
done  enough.  You  have  passed  your  true  bounds  for  policy. 
I  see  your  object.  lou  can  move  me  no  longer  by  this 
Try  come  other." 


"1  agree  witli  you  I  have  made  arrangements  for  auoiiic* 
process.  How  would  you  like  to  see  your  daughter  ?" 

"  Ha  !  my  daughter  ?  —  Well !— " 

fi  She  is  here  !" 

"  Here  ?  no  !  impossible  !  Ha !  ha !  do  you  suppose  I  am 
any  longer  to  be  deluded  by  your  falsehoods  ?" 

*•  You  shall  see  her  !     She  is  here,  I  tell  you  —  in  my  pcvjC}  ! 
Mark  that.     You  know  what  that  means,  I  fansy,  somvthm^ 
better  than  your  daughter  !     Verily,  she  is  a  teautifu!  virgin  — 
young,  tender,  moie  beautiful  than  ever.     And  sha  :.s  hiare- 
here  —  alone — and  in  my  power  /" 

-  Another  of  your  lies  !     But  you  can  no  longer  terrify  me 
by  your  stale  inventions.     Nothing  that  you  e?.n  say  can  nor; 
disturb  rny  fears.     I  scorn  you,  T  defy  you,  I  rpiS;  upon  you  !  — 
and  —  I  sing  —  sing  in  your  ears: — 

*  Brother  Reynard  saw  never  the  peril, 

And,  waggiug  his  tail  as  he  came, 
Stole  over  the  fencQ  to  the  fowlyard, 

Intent  upon  bagging  his  game ! 
But  the  wisest  of  foxes  may  blunder, 

If  he  sets  too  much  store  by  his  tail ; 
And  the  rogue,  scooping  down  to  his  plunder, 

Starts  up  'neath  the  stroke  of  the  flail ! 
Ho !  ho !  tally  ho !  —  heyup,  and  ho  !  ho  ! 

'Off  with  you,  brother  fox  —  you  find  no  more  prey  in  mv 
fowlyard !" 

The  wild,  savage  merriment  of  the  prisoner,  as  he  sung  thi* 
-fragment  of  an  old  ballad  in  the  very  ears  of  his  captor,  abso 
lutely  astounded  our  captain  of  loyalists  for  a  moment,  thougix 
tor  a  moment  only. 

"  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  am  delighted  to  find  you  in  such  excel- 
ent  voice.     Your  musical  powers  have  increased  in  the  solitude. 
Deprived  of  the  exercise  of  your  peculiar  moral  powers,  you  arc 
developing  fresh  resources  of  art  in  your  old  age.     This  i*  won 
derful.     I  never  heard  you  warble  a  stave  before,  during  the  lon<5 
period  of  our  interesting  intimacy.     You  must  have  bee/i  iu 
spired  by  the  nightly  chant  among  the  frogs.     But  I  still  vfcto 
ture  to  think,  my  dear   captain,   that,  when    you   comi>   to 
knowledge  of  the  fact?   in  my  posse?«ion,  you  will  sing  quite 
anothe.'  tune." 


THE  CAPTIVES  MEET FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.         507 

"Perhaps  so — perhaps  so!  Meanwhile,  I  sing  according  to  my 
present  humor.  Will  you  have  another  ditty,  eh  ? " 

' '  Well,  really,  as  I  have  need  to  while  away  a  few  moments  more 
befort  I  shall  be  prepared  for  your  better  enlightenment,  I  don't  care 
if  you  do  exercise  your  vocal  powers  for  my  benefit." 

' '  For  your  especial  use. 

[Sings  —  in  very  natural  frog-fashion  :] — 

Go  to  the  d— 1,  and  shake  yourself; 
Save  him  the  trouble,  and  stake  yourself ; 
In  the  sulphur  lake  slake  yourself, 
Then  come  back 

[Spoken,  "  If  he'll  let  you  "],  and  hang  yourself ! " 

And  Travis  chukled  incontinently  with  his  humor  after  thus 
delivering  himself. 

"Well,  Captain  Travis,"  said  the  other,  "now  that  you  have 
enjoyed  your  wit  and  your  music,  suppose  we  give  a  few  moments  to 
business  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  d — 1  take  the  business!  He  has  need  to,  and  right 
too,  for  all  your  business  is  so  much  devil's  business  !  But,  speak 
out  and  begin ;  for  I  know  you  too  well  to  suppose  I  shall  have 
any  rest  until  you  have  fairly  discharged  all  the  venom  in  your 
sack  ! " 

The  other  proceeded  : — 

"  I  have  said  that  your  daughter  is  in  my  possession.  You  do 
not  believe  it,  but  you  shall  see  her.  When  you  have  seen  her  here — 
alone — in  my  power — your  hands  fettered,  and  mine  free — you  will 
then  conceive  readily  to  what  uses  I  may  put  my  power.  My  wish  is 
to  marry  your  daughter,  and  release  you  and  your  son  ;  not  to  harm, 
or  discredit,  or  dishonor  either  !  I  give  to  you,  and  to  herself,  the 
last  opportunity  for  enabling  me  to  do  this.  But  have  her  I  will! 
When  I  next  return,  I  will  bring  with  me  a  regular  clergyman  ;  and 
she  becomes  mine  under  the  most  solemn  sanctions  of  religion, 
or—" 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  A  door  in  the  adjoining  room  was 
heard  to  open,  and  persons  to  move  in  it. 

"Now,  Captain  Travis,  I  will  satisfy  your  own  eyes  of  your 
daughter's  presence  here — in  this  swamp — in  this  very  building — in 
my  absolute  power  !  When  you  have  communed  together,  and  com 
pared  notes — which  you  shall  have  full  time  for  doing — I  shall 


508  EUTAW. 

return,  to  find  you  both,  I  trust,  in  better  mood  for  complying  with 
my  demands." 

Saying  these  words,  Inglehardt  approached  the  partition  which 
separated  the  two  rooms.  This  was  built  of  solid  logs,  like  the 
outer  walls  of  the  building — a  dead  wall,  without  door  or  window. 
But  there  was  a  trick  of  mechanism,  by  which  a  small  section 
of  one  of  the  poles,  about  eighteen  inches  long,  had  been  sawed  out 
and  replaced,  and  was  held  in  its  station  by  pegs  from  below,  which, 
in  the  usual  darkness  of  the  apartment,  naturally  escaped  notice. 
To  draw  these  pegs  away  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment ;  and 
the  section,  thus  cut  off  from  the  rest,  was  taken  out  by  Inglehardt, 
revealing  an  oblong  opening  eight  by  eighteen  inches,  sufficiently 
large  to  enable  the  parties  to  see  from  one  apartment  into  the 
other. 

"Now,  Captain  Travis,  you  may  see  your  daughter.  Summon 
her  with  your  owrn  voice." 

"My  daughter!"  cried  the  father,  evidently  staggered  by  the 
procedure  of  Inglehardt.  ' '  No,  no  —  impossible  !  Bertha  ! — Bertha 
Travis,  if  you  be,  indeed,  in  this  monster's  power,  say  so  —  show 
me  —  speak,  and  let  me  go  mad  at  once  ! " 

"My  father!  oh,  my  father!"  was  the  instantaneous  answer 
from  within.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Travis  rushed  to  the 
opening.  Bertha,  meanwhile?,  unobstructed,  and  conducted  by 
the  sounds,  had  darted,  at  the  same  moment,  to  the  same  spot. 
Their  faces  nearly  met  !  At  the  sight  of  his,  so  haggard,  wild, 
shaggy  with  beard  and  hair  —  more  like  that  of  a  wild  beast  of 
the  woods  than  a  human  being  —  the  poor  girl  gave  a  piercing 
shriek . 

"  God  have  mercy  upon  me  !    Is  it,  indeed,  my  father  '! " 

"No,  my  child!  It  is  a  wolf,  a  wild  beast,  whom  3*011  see;  a 
monster,  the  worst  of  monsters  —  a  wolf  without  trrth,  a  vuliure 
without  claws,  a  madman  without  the  power  to  rend  the  devil  who 
has  made  him  so  !  " 

"  I  leave  you  to  your  communion,  which  begins  too  eloquently  for 
my  taste!"  said  Inglehardt,  in  his  old  slow  tones.  "  You  both  hear 
me  ;  both  know  my  resolution,  and  your  own  danger.  When  1  next 
return,  I  return  with  a  clergyman.  Bertha  Travis  then  becomes  my 
wife  —  hark  ye  !  —  or  —  what  I  please  ! " 


BA.WL2    0* 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

BATTLE    OF    EUTAW. 

ITH  these  terrible  words  —  this  threat,  in  which  all  that 
horrible  in  the  conjecture  of  imagination  seemed  to  be  em 
bodied —  Inglehardt  left  his  captives  —  not  together,  exactly, 
foi  tiie  impassable  walls  stood  between  them  still ;  but  to  coin- 
rnauB  together,  face  to  face  —  sad  solace  !  —  in  such  mournful 
thoughts  and  fancies  as  were  natural  to  their  fears  and  situa 
tion.  We  must  leave  them  for  a  while  also,  to  their  gloomy 
comparison  of  notes  —  leave  them  to  such  solace  as  Heavcc 
alone  may  vouchsafe  them.  There  seems  to  be  no  present  help 
from  man ! 

Wi  must  proceed  to  more  general  interests.  The  affairs  of 
;he  country  —  the  natural  progress  of  events  in  the  military 
world  —  require  us  to  attend  those  more  stirring  and  stormy 
folds  of  debate  upon  which  hang  the  fortunes  of  a  whole  people. 
The  affair  of  grand  armies  is  approaching;  and  the  circum 
stances  which  require  that  Inglehardt,  leaving  bis  swamp-fast 
ness,  should  now  take  a  downward  instead  of  an  upward  route 
indicate  the  necessity  which  governs  us  also  in  shaping  oui 
course  in  a  like  direction.  His  orders  carry  hi\n  to  Eutaw,  and 
co  the  country  below  it.  His  selfish  interests  suggest  the  neces 
sity  of  seeing  Griffith  and  other  agents,  who  ha^e  been  his  emis 
saries,  if  not  his  associates,  in  the  business  of  peculation.  He 
has  exhausted  the  resources  of  the  Edisto ;  he  would  now  try 
those  of  Cooper  river  and  Santee.  Under  cover  of  the  British 
army  at  Eutaw,  and  the  lower  posts  which  they  have  again 
occupied,  he  calculates  largely  on  the  spoHa  opima.  He  has  no 
'  lotion  that  Greene's  arrny  has  left  *he  \inks  of  the  Congaree 


510  ETJTAW 

affair  of  grand  armies  will  open  before  the  cool  breezes  of  October 
shall  set  in. 

We  are,  of  course,  better  advised.  But  not  so  the  British  general. 
He  had  planted  himself  at  Eutaw,  as  we  have  seen  ;  and,  regarding 
his  position,  justly,  as  one  of  some  strength,  and,  unaware  of  any 
movement  of  the  American  army,  his  attitude  was  that  of  one  perfect 
ly  confident  in  his  security.  Stewart  seems  to  have  been  a  person  of 
easy  character,  of  the  methodical  old  school,  lymphatic,  and  of  very 
moderate  ability.  So  effectually  had  our  partisans  cut  off  all  his 
communications  with  the  country  above  him,  and  so  careless  did  he 
seem  in  respect  to  the  acquisition  of  intelligence,  that  not  a  scout,  not 
a  patrol,  not  an  agent  of  any  sort  advised  him  of  Greene's  movements 
until  his  artillery  was  already  sounding  in  his  ears.  It  can  not  be 
doubted  that  he  was  remiss  in  seeking  intelligence,  and  that  he  was  in 
some  degree  the  victim  of  a  surprise.  The  only  patrol  he  is  known 
to  have  sent  out,  was  captured.  The  fact  is  that,  so  long  as  he 
believed  the  brigade  of  Marion  to  be  below  him,  on  the  Santee,  he 
felt  no  occasion  for  apprehension.  He  could  not  believe  that  Greene, 
with  inferior  numbers,  wanting  in  munitions,  and  his  men  not  yet 
recovered  from  their  debilitating  marches,  and  the  effects  of  the 
season,  would  venture  an  action  without  calling  in  all  his  parties. 
Without  Marion's  command,  he  felt  very  sure  that  he  would  not ;  and 
he  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  no  junction  of  Marion  with  the 
grand  army  had  yet  taken  place.  The  skirmish,  so  recently  had, 
between  his  flanking  parties,  and  the  little  squad  under  Sinclair — 
which  was  driven  below — was  enough  to  assure  him  on  this  head. 
But  Marion's  movements  were  those  of  light.  Stewart,  rather  slow 
himself,  did  not  anticipate  that  the  famous  partisan  would,  by  a 
forced  march,  in  a  single  night,  wind  about  him,  steal  above  him, 
and  unite  with  the  descending  columns  of  Greene.  Yet  such  was 
the  case. 

The  approach  of  Stewart  to  the  Congaree  had  set  Greene's 
army  in  motion.  It  would  have  greatly  favored  the  prospects 
of  victory  to  the  Americans,  if  they  could  have  brought  the 
British  to  action  upon  that  river,  where,  remote  from  their  con 
voys,  and  base  of  operations,  any  disaster  would  have  proved 
fatal  to  their  arms.  But  the  rapid  retreat  of  Stewart,  wlto  felt 


BATTLE   OF   BUT  AW.  511 

this  very  danger,  lessened  Greene's  motives  for  activity;  and 
he  proceeded  on  his  advance  with  steps  of  greater  leisure  than 
when  he  set  out.  This  deliberation  also  contributed  to  the 
encouragement  of  the  British  commander,  to  whom  it  suggested 
the  idea  of  a  deficient  confidence,  and  lack  of  resources,  on  the 
part  of  the  Americans,  which  would  keep  him  harmless  for 
awhile. 

In  one  respect  he  was  correct,  The  resources  of  the  American 
army  were  exceedingly  inferior.  There  seemed  to  be  a  singular 
fatality,  about  this  time,  attending  all  the  calculations  of  its 
commander.  Not  only  did  Congress  fail  to  furnish  adequate 
supplies,  leaving  the  army  lacking  in  all  the  necessary  material 
and  munitions  of  war,  to  say  nothing  of  clothes,  tents,  and  camp 
utensils  ;  but  there  was  a  sad  failure  in  its  anticipated  personnel, 
which  no  present  effort  could  supply.  The  army  had  recruited 
in  health,  and  improved  in  morale,  during  its  temporary  respite 
upon  the  salubrious  hills  of  Santee;  but  it  had  improved  in  no 
other  respect.  Greene,  during  ail  this  period,  had  been  vexing 
the  echoes  with  calls,  north  and  west,  for  supplies  and  rein 
forcements  without  receiving  any  more  solid  response  than  echo 
could  impart.  He  had  been  promised  eight  hundred  Pemisyl- 
vanians,  but,  when  the  call  was  made  for  them,  they  were  no 
more  available  than  the  tributary  spirits  whom  Owen  Glen- 
dower  kept  in  his  employ,  but  whom  ho  summoned  in  vain  from 
regions  of  the  vasty  deep.  Wayne,  with  his  Pennsylvaniaus, 
was  diverted  from  the  Carolinas,  to  help  in  the  siege  of  York- 
town,  where,  in  spite  of  the  grand  armies  registered  at  this  day 
on  the  pension,  and  other  pay-lists,  the  whole  force  of  continentals 
under  Washington  did  not  exceed  seven  thousand  men.  Greene 
had  been  assured,  by  Shelby  and  Sevier,  of  the  succor  of  seven 
hundred  gallant  mountaineers  of  the  West  ;  such  as  had  con 
quered  Ferguson  at  King's  Mountain;  and  the  brave  fellows 
were  actually  advancing  to  his  support,  when  they  were  met  by 
false  tidings  of  his  successful  march  below — and  that  he  had 
already  driven  the  British  into  Charleston.  The  report  had  grown 
out  of  the  dashing  foray  of  the  dogdays,  by  the  mounted  men  and 
cavalry  of  the  army.  But,  however  idle,  it  was  mischievous. 
The  mountaineers,  taking  for  granted,  that  nothing  now  remained 
for  them  to  do,  quietly  travelled  back  to  their  hill-slopes.. 


512  EUTAW. 

There  was  a  fine  body  of  recruits,  some  hundred  and  fifty, 
raised  by  Colonel  Jackson,  in  Georgia.  Jackson  was  a  brave 
fellow,  and  a  man  of  talents.  Greene  relied  confidently  on  this 
force,  at  least;  yet,  to  his  horror,  and  that  of  their  captain,  the  camp 
of  the  Georgians  was  entered  by  the  pestilence,  at  the  very  moment 
when  they  were  about  to  repair  to  the  main  army;  the  whole  force  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  men,  were  seized  with  small-pox,  at  the  same 
time,  and  more  than  fifty  of  them  perished  under  this  horrid 
disease. 

In  brief,  of  all  the  anticipated  reinforcements,  none  came 
but  some  few  hundred  levies  from  North  Carolina ;  and  the 
whole  force  of  the  Americans,  at  the  reopening  of  the  cam 
paign,  consisted  of  twenty-five  hundred  combatants,  all  told.  The 
main  strength  of  the  army,  in  which  it  excelled  the  British,  lay 
in  its  cavalry  and  mounted  men.  In  regulars,  it  was  numeri 
cally  inferior — inferior  in  artillery  as  well  as  in  the  number  of  its 
bayonets.  But  we  must  not  anticipate  these  details  which  events 
will  sufficiently  develop. 

Greene,  fully  conscious  of  his  weakness,  meditated  a  discon 
tinuance  of  the  pursuit  of  Stewart,  as  he  felt  it  likely  that  the 
latter  would  fall  too  far  back  upon  his  base  of  operations,  to 
leave  it  possible  for  him  to  make  any  successful  demonstration. 
He  crossed  the  Congaree,  moved  slowly  down  the  south  bank  intend 
ing  to  take  post  at  Motte's,  and  wait  events  and  reinforce 
ments.  Lee,  with  the  legion  cavalry,  was,  meanwhile,  pushed  down 
upon  the  steps  of  Stewart,  to  watch  his  movements;  while  General 
Pickens,  is  command  of  the  state  t'roops,  was  sent  forward  to  observe, 
and  damage,  if  he  might,  the  garrison  which  Stewart  had  left  in 
Orangeburg. 

With  the  approach  of  Pickens,  this  garrison  hurried  down 
after  Stewart,  and  joined  him  seasonably  at  Eutaw ;  while  the 
troops  from  Fairlawn,  five  hundred  in  number,  reinforced  him 
about  the  same  time,  from  the  opposite  quarter.  "When  apprised 
by  Pickens  and  Lee  of  these  proceedings  of  Stewart,  and  of 
the  concentration  of  his  chief  strength  at  Eutaw,  Greene  re 
solved  to  give  him  battle;  the  post  at  Eutaw  being  sufficiently 
far  from  Charleston,  to  assure  the  American  general  against  a 
too  easy  recovery  by  the  British  from  disaster,  should  he  be 
successful  in  obtaining  any  advantages  from  the  conflict.  It 


BATTLE    OF   EUTAW.  513 

also  assured  him  against  any  ill  consequences,  to  himself,  other 
than  he  might  suffer  from  the  conflict  with  the  one  army  with 
which  he  was  to  contend.  Satisfied  now,  that  Stewart  was  not 
unwilling  to  measure  swords  with  him,  he  resumed  his  march 
accordingly,  with  the  determination  to  fight ! 

On  the  5th  of  September,  we  find  that  Marion,  supposed  by 
Stewart,  to  be  still  below  him,  has,  by  a  night  march,  thrown 
his  brigade  seventeen  miles  above ;  and  is  stationed  at  Lau- 
rens's  plantation,  waiting  the  arrival  of  Greene.  The  latter 
reached  the  same  point  the  same  evening.  Here  v  the  State 
troops  under  Pickens  joined  also.  The  6th  of  September,  was 
devoted  to  rest  and  preparation.  On  the  evening  of  the  7th, 
the  army  had  reached  Burdell's  tavern,  on  the  Congaree  road, 
seven  miles  above  Eutaw.  Here  it  bivouacked  for  the  night, 
Greene  taking  his  sleep  beneath  a  China  (pride  of  India)  tree, 
one  of  its  bulging  roots  answering  for  a  pillow.  His  suite,  and 
officers  generally,  were  similarly  couched.  The  night  was  mild 
and  pleasant  —  the  open  air  more  grateful  than  salubrious;  and 
the  stars  watched  the  sleepers  without  shedding  any  of  those 
fiery  signs  over  the  heavens,  which  in  olden  time,  were  supposed 
to  give  auguries  of  a  bloody  morrow. 

Up  to  this  moment  the  British  general  had  no  notion  of  the 
near,  approach  of  his  antagonist.  Nor,  through  the  night,  did 
he  receive  any  tidings  of  his  presence.  In  the  morning,  so  little 
were  the  British  prepared  to  suspect  the  propinquity  of  the 
Americans,  that  a  rooting  party,  of  a  hundred  men,  were  sent 
up  the  road,  to  gather  supplies  of  sweet  potatoes  from  the  farms 
and  plantations  along  the  river.  They  had  been  some  time 
gone,  when  two  deserters  from  the  American  camp  found  their 
wray  to  the  British  post,  and  gave  the  first  intimation  to  Stewart 
of  his  danger.  He  immediately  despatched  Coffin  with  his  cavalry 
to  protect  and  bring  back  his  foragers,  and  reconnoitre  and  retard 
the  American  advance. 

Meanwhile,  the  American  army  had  been  put  in  motion 
marching  down,  in  four  columns,  in  the  following  order:  The 
South  Carolina  state  troops  and  Lee's  legion,  formed  the  ad 
vance,  under  Colonel  Henderson ;  the  militia  of  the  two  Caro- 
linas,  under  Marion  followed  next.  Then  came  the  regulars 
under  General  Sumncr,  and  the  rear  was  brought  up  by  Wash- 

22* 


514:  EUTAW, 

ington's  cavalry  and  the  Delawares.  They  were  thus  arranged  in 
reference  to  the  order  of  battle,  in  which  they  were  to  be  formed 
upon  the  field. 

The  American  advance  of  Henderson  and  Lee  encountered 
Coffin.  He  charged  them  with  a  singular  audacity,  not  seeming 
to  suspect  that  the  main  army  was  at  hand.  Of  course  he  was 
made  to  recoil.  The  firing  drew  the  foragers  out  of  the  woods 
and  farms,  and  they  all  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans. 
Coffin's  audacity,  in  the  charge,  led  Greene  to  believe  that 
Stewart  w*is  nigh  to  sustain  him.  He  called  a  halt  accord 
ingly,  gave  his  troops  a  sup  of  Jamaica  all  round*  and  then 
displayed  in  order  of  battle.  The  militia  of  the  two  Carolinas 
formed  his  first  line,  Marion  leading  the  right,  Pickens  the  left, 
Malmedy  the  centre.  Henderson,  with  the  South  Carolina 
state  troops  covered  the  left  of  this  line,  and  Lee,  with  the  le 
gion,  the  right.  The  regulars  displayed  in  one  line  also ;  the 
North-Carolinians  under  Simmer,  on  the  right;  the  Maryland- 
ers,  under  Otho  Williams,  the  left ;  the  Virginians,  under  Camp 
bell,  the  centre.  Two  three-pounders,  under  Captain  Gaines, 
moved  centrally  in  the  road  with  the  first  line  ;  two  six-pound 
ers,  in  the  same  order,  under  Captain  Brown,  with  the  second. 
Colonel  Washington,  in  cover  of  the  woods,  formed  the  reserve. 
The  militia  force  of  foot,  under  Marion  and  Pickens,  was  about 
six  hundred,  Malmedy 's  North-Carolinians  were  one  hundred 
and  fifty ;  the  line  of  regulars  numbered  three  hundred  and 
fifty  North  Carolinians,  two  hundred  and  fifty  Virginians,  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  Marylandcrs.  The  cavalry  and  mounted 
men  were  relatively  more  numerous ;  and  there  were  covering 
parties,  and  a  force  in  charge  of  the  baggage  (which  had  been 
left  forty  miles  in  the  rear),  the  numbers  of  which  are  not  given, 
and  hardly  now  to  be  determined  by  any  estimate.  At  the 
utmost  Greene  had  probably  twenty-five  hundred  men,  rank  and 
file. 

In  this  order  the  troops  marched  forward  —  moving  slowly,  as 
the  whole  country,  both  sides  of  the  road,  was  in  woods.  The 
first  American  line  drove  Stewart's  advanced  parties  before 
them,  until  they  found  shelter  in  their  own  line  of  battle.  There 

*  At  Camden,  Gates  gave  them  molasses  and  water,  which,  tradition  says, 
did  infinite  mischief,  and  was  the  main  cause  of  his  defeat. 


BATTLE   OF   EUTAW.  515 

was  no  faltering  in  this  progress.  The  militia  of  the  Carolinas.,  when 
led  by  Marion  and  Pickens,  never  faltered,  so  long  as  the  order  was 
heard  to  fight! 

Stewart  had  drawn  up  his  troops  in  a  single  line,  extending  from 
the  Eutaw  creek,  beyond  the  Congaree  road.  The  creek  effectually 
covered  his  right;  his  left  was  "in  air,"  to  use  the  military  language — 
i.  e.,  not  covered — and  was  supported  by  the  cavahy  of  Coffin,  and  a 
strong  body  of  infantry,  which  were,  in  turn,  under  cover  of  the 
forest.  The  ground  which  the  British  army  occupied  was  altogether 
in  wood;  but,  a  small  distance  in  the  rear,  was  a  cleared  field,  extend 
ing  west,  south,  and  east  of  the  dwelling-house  which  formed  his 
castle  of  refuge,  and  bounded  north  by  the  Eutaw  spring — thickly 
fringed  with  brush,  and  a  stunted  growth  of  forest.  But  we  have 
already,  in  a  previous  chapter,  indicated  the  characteristics  of  the 
spot,  the  house,  grounds  and  garden.  South  and  west  of  the  house, 
it  may  be  well  to  mention  here,  an  old  field  was  occupied  by  the 
British  camp,  all  the  tents  being  left  standing  when  the  battle  joined. 
The  house  commanded  these  tents  and  the  camp,  and  was  important 
to  Stewart,  as  a  rallying  point  in  the  event  of  disaster.  Major  Sheri 
dan  was,  accordingly,  instructed  to  occupy  it  on  the  first  sign  of  mis 
fortune.  For  further  security,  Stewart  had  posted  Major  Majoribanks, 
with  three  hundred  picked  troops,  in  the  dense  thickets  which  border 
the  Eutaw  creek.  The  artillery  of  the  British— five  pieces— covered 
the  main  road. 

The  skirmishing  parties  had  done  their  work  with  spirit — had 
melted  away  on  both  sides,  and  yielded  to  heavier  battalions;  and  the 
artillery  of  the  first  line,  and  the  militia  of  the  two  Carolinas,  all 
under  Marion,  went  into  the  melee  with  the  fierce  passions  of  indi 
vidual  ardor,  and  the  stubborn  and  desperate  resolve  of  veterans. 
Very  obstinate  and  very  bloody  was  the  struggle,  and  singularly 
protracted.  The  artillery  was  worked  admirably,  and  continued  to 
belch  forth  its  iron  rages,  until  both  of  the  three-pounders  of  the 
Americans,  and  one  of  the  British,  were  disabled.  Nor  did  the 
militia  fail  the  artillery.  Never  perhaps  had  militia  done  better — 
never  perhaps  quite  so  well.  The  regulars  looked  on  with  equal 
surprise  and  admiration,  as  they  beheld  these  brave  fellows,  whom  it 
is  so  customary  to  disparage,  as  they  rushed  forward  into  the  hottest 


516  EUTAW. 

of  the  enemy's  fire,  totally  unmoved  with  the  continual  fall  of  their 
comrades  around  them. 

' '  The  veterans  of  Frederick  of  Prussia  never  showed  themselves 
better  fire-eaters ! "  was  the  ejaculation  of  Greene.  "Regulars,  you 
must  look  to  your  laurels!  " 

And,  all  this  time,  these  men  of  Marion,  Pickens  and  Malmedy, 
were  enduring  the  fire  of  nearly  twice  their  number,  for  they  were 
opposed  to  the  entire  British  line.  But  such  a  conflict  could  not 
last.  The  two  pieces  of  artillery  were  finally  demolished.  The 
British,  not  able  to  stand  their  deadly  fire,  for  every  southron  was  a 
rifleman,  now  pressed  forward  with  the  bayonet.  This  was  a  weapon 
which  our  militiamen  did  not  use.  They  were  compelled  to  recoil 
before  it;  but  did  not  until  every  man  had  emptied  his  cartouch- 
box.  They  delivered  seventeen  rounds  before  they  yielded,  and 
retired  by  the  wings  to  the  covering  parties,  on  either  hand.  Rut- 
ledge,  who  was  o-n  the  field  with  Greene,  sobbed  like  a  child  with 
exultation,  as  he  clasped  Marion  about  the  neck  when  he  came  out  of 
the  action. 

"  Our  fellows  have  won  immortal  honor — immortal  honor!" 

The  issue  thus  presented,  of  the  bayonet,  brought  the  American 
second  into  action.  The  militia,  as  we  have  seen,  disappeared  away 
upon  the  wings,  retired  into  the  woods,  and  rallied,  for  future  work, 
upon  the  flauking-parties. 

The  regulars,  under  Sumner,  had  felt  the  example  of  the  militia, 
and  glowed  with  anxiety  to  take  their  place  in  the  struggle.  They 
rushed  forward,  keen  as  lightning;  and,  at  their  approach,  Stewart 
brought  the  majority  of  his  reserve  into  line.  The  conflict  was  then 
renewed,  with  as  much  fury  as  ever.  Leaving  these  combatants 
equally  matched,  or  nearly  so,  let  us  look  to  other  parties. 

From  the  first  of  the  action,  the  infantry  of  the  American 
covering  parties  had  shared  in  it  as  well  as  the  first  line,  and 
had  been  steadily  engaged.  The  cavalry  of  the  legion  (Lee's) 
being  on  the  American  right,  had  been  enabled  to  withdraw 
into  the  woods,  and  attend  on  its  infantry,  without  being  at  all 
exposed  to  the  enemy's  fire.  Not  so,  however,  the  state  troops 
under  Henderson.  These  had  occupied  one  of  the  most  exposed 


BATTLE    OF    EUTAW.  517 

situations  in  the  field;  for,  though  the  American  right,  covered 
by  the  legion  infantry,  extended  beyond  the  British  left,  the 
American  left  fell  far  short  of  the  British  right.  The  conse 
quence  was,  that  the  state  troops  were  exposed  to  the  oblique 
fire  of  a  large  part  of  the  British  right,  and  particularly  to  that 
of  the  flank  battalion  under  Majoribanks,  which  was  pushed 
under  cover  of  the  wood  along  the  banks  of  i  the  creek.  Hen 
derson  implored  to  be  allowed  to  charge  the  enemy  whom  he 
could  not  see;  but  he  could  not  be  spared  from  the  one  duty, 
that  of  covering  his  portion  of  the  line.  Never  was  constancy 
more  severely  tried.  Wounded,  at  length,  and  carried  from  the 
field,  Henderson's  place  was  occupied  by  Colonel  Wade  Hampton, 
who,  admirably  supported  by  Colonels  Polk  and  Middleton,  was  com 
pelled  to  endure  for  a  while  the  same  trials  which  Henderson  had 
undergone." 

We  must  return  to  the  main  battle.  We  have  seen  Summer, 
with  his  brigade,  taking  the  place  vacated  by  the  militia.  He,  at 
length,  yielded  to  the  superior  force  and  fire  of  the  enemy.  As  his 
brigade  wavered,  shrank,  and  finally  yielded,  the  hopes  of  the  Brit 
ish  grew  sanguine.  With  a  \vild  yell  of  victory,  they  rushed  forward 
to  complete  their  supposed  triumph,  and,  in  doing  so,  their  line 
became  disordered.  This  afforded  an  opportunity  of  which  Greene 
promptly  availed  himself.  He  had  anticipated  this  probability,  and 
had  waited  anxiously  for  it.  He  was  now  ready  to  take  advantage 
of  it,  and  gave  his  order — to  Otho  Williams,  in  command  of  the 
Mary  landers — "  Let  Williams  advance,  and  sweep  the  field  with  his 
bayonets!" 

And  Williams,  heading  two  brigades — those  of  Maryland 
and  Virginia — swept  forward  with  a  shout.  When  within 
forty  yards  of  the  British,  the  Virginians  poured  in  a  destructive 
lire,  under  which  their  columns  reeled  and  shivered  as  if  struck 
by  lightning;  and  then  the  whole  second  line,  the  three  bri 
gades,  with  trailed  arms,  and  almost  at  a  trot,  darted  on  to  the 
savage  issue  of  naked  steel,  hand  to  hand,  with  the  desperate 
bayonet.  The  terrible  fire  of  the  Virginians,  followed  up  by 
the  charge  of  the  second  line,  and  seconded,  at  this  lucky  June 
ture,  by  the  legion  infantry,  which  suddenly  poured  in  a  most 
destructive  fire  uuon  the  now  exDOsed  flank  of  the  British  left, 
inrew  the  whole  line  into  irretrievable  disorder.  But  the  bay- 


518  EUTAW. 

onets  of  certain  sections  were  crossed,  though  for  a  moment  only; 
men  were  transfixed  by  one  another,  and  the  contending  officers 
sprang  at  each  other  with  their  swords! 

The  left  of  the  British  centre  at  this  vital  moment,  pressed  upon 
by  their  own  fugitives,  yielded  under  the  pressure,  and  the  Mary- 
landers  now  delivering  their  fire,  hitherto  reserved,  completed  the 
disaster!  Along  the  whole  front,  the  enemy's  ranks  wavered,  gave 
way  finally,  and  retired  sullenly,  closely  pressed  by  the  shouting 
Americans. 

The  victory  was  wo,n! — so  far  a  victory  was  won;  and  all  that 
was  necessary  was  to  keep  and  confirm  the  triumph.  But  the  day 
was  not  over!  The  battle  of  Eutaw  was  a  two-act,  we  might  say  a 
three-net,  drama — such  were  its  vicissitudes. 

At  the  moment  when  the  British  line  gave  way,  had  it  been 
pressed  without  reserve  by  the  'legion  cavalry,  the  disaster  must  have 
been  irretrievable.  But  this  seems  not  to  have  been  done.  Why, 
can  not  now  be  well  explained,  nor  is  it  exactly  within  our  province 
to  undertake  the  explanation.  Lee  himself  was  at  this  moment  with 
his  infantry,  and  they  had  just  done  excellent  service.  It  is  probable 
that  Coffin's  cavalry  was  too  much  for  that  of  the  legion;  and  this 
body,  sustained  by  a  select  corps  of  bayonets,  protected  the  British 
in  the  quarter  which  was  first  to  }rield.  It  now  remained  for  the 
Americans  to  follow  up  their  successes.  The  British  had  been  driven 
from  their  first  field.  It  was  the  necessity  of  the  Americans  that 
they  should  have  no  time  to  rally  upon  other  ground,  especially 
upon  the  ground  so  well  covered  by  the  brick-house,  and  the 
dense  thicket  along  the  creek  which  was  occupied  by  Majori- 
banks. 

But  a  pursuing  army,  where  the  cavalry  fails  in  its  appointed 
duty,  can  never  overtake  a  fugitive  force,  unless,  emulating 
their  speed,  it  breaks  its  own  order.  This,  if  it  does,  it  becomes 
fugitive  also,  and  is  liable  to  the  worst  dangers  from  the  smallest 
reverse.  This  is,  in  truth,  the  very  error  which  the  Americans  com 
mitted,  and  all  their  subsequent  misfortunes  sprang  entirely  from  this 
one  source. 

The  British  yielding  slowly  from  left  to  right — the  right 
very  reluctant  to  retire — and  the  Americans  pressing  upon 
them  just  in  the  degree  in  which  the  two  sections  yielded,  both 
armies  performed  together  a  half-wheel,  which  brought  them 


BATTLE    OF    EUTAW.  519 

into  the  open  grounds  in  front  of  the  house.  In  this  position 
the  Marylanders  were  brought  suddenly  under  the  fire  of  the 
covered  party  of  Majoribanks,  in  the  thicket.  This  promised 
to  be  galling  and  destructive.  Greene  saw  that  Majoribanks 
must  be  dislodged,  or  that  the  whole  force  of  the  enemy  would 
rally ;  and  Colonel  Washington  was  commanded  to  charge  the 
thicket.  He  did  so  very  gallantly  ;  was  received  by  a  terrible 
fire,  which  swept  away  scores  of  men  and  horses.  Deadly  as 
was  this  result,  and  absurd  as  was  the  attempt,  the  gallant 
trooper  thrice  essayed  to  penetrate  the  thickets,  and  each  time 
paid  the  terrible  penalty  of  his  audacity  in  the  blood  of  his 
best  soldiers.  The  field,  at  one  moment,  was  covered  with  his 
wounded,  plunging,  riderless  horses,  maddened  by  their  hurts. 
All  but  two  of  his  officers  were  brought  to  the  ground.  Re 
himself  fell  beneath  his  horse,  wounded ;  and,  while  such  was 
his  situation,  Majoribanks  emerged  with  his  bayonets  from  his 
'  thickets,  and  completed  the  defeat  of  the  squadron.  Washing 
ton  himself  was  narrowly  saved  from  a  British  bayonet,  and 
was  made  prisoner.  It  was  left  to  Hampton,  one  of  his  survi 
ving  officers,  who  was  fortunately  unhurt,  to  rescue  and  rally 
the  scattered  survivors  of  his  gallant  division,  and  bring  them 
on  again  to  the  fruitless  charge  upon  Majoribanks.  Hampton 
was  supported  in  this  charge  by  Kirkwood's  Delawares ;  but 
the  result  was  as  fruitless  as  before.  The  very  attempt  was 
suicidal.  The  British  major  was  too  well  posted,  too  strongly 
covered,  too  strong  himself  in  numbers  and  the  quality  of  his 
troops,  to  be  driven  from  his  ground,  even  by  shocks  so  decided 
and  frequently  repeated,  of  the  sort  of  force  sent  against  him. 

Up  to  this  moment,  nothing  had  seemed  more  certain  than 
the  victory  of  the  Americans.  The  consternation  in  the  British 
camp  was  complete.  Everything  was  given  up  for  lost,  by  a 
considerable  portion  of  the  arm}7.  The  commissaries  destroyed 
their  stores,  the  loyalists  and  American  deserters,  dreading  the 
rope,  seizing  every  horse  which  they  could  command,  fled  in 
continently  for  Charleston,  whither  they  carried  such  an  alarm, 
that  the  stores  along  the  road  were  destroyed,  and  the  trees 
felled  across  it  for  the  obstruction  of  the  victorious  Americans, 
who  were  supposed  to  be  pressing  down  upon  the  city  with  all 
might. 


520  EUTAW. 

Equally  deceived  were  the  couqueiors.  Flushed  with  success, 
the  infantry  scattered  themselves  about  the  British  carnp,  which, 
as  all  the  tents  had  been  left  standing,  presented  a  thousand 
objects  to  tempt  the  appetites  of  a  half-starved  and  half-naked 
soldiery.  Insubordination  followed  disorder ;  and  they  were 
only  made  aware  of  the  .danger  of  having  victory  changed  into 
a  most  shameful  defeat,  by  finding  themselves  suddenly  brought 
under  a  vindictive  fire  from  the  windows  of  the  brick  house, 
into  which  Major  Sheridan  had  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way, 
with  a  strong  body  of  sharp-shooters. 

He  had  not  done  this,  however,  but  with  great  difficulty,  Closely 
pressed,  particularly  by  the  legion  infantry,  a  desperate  strug 
gle  took  place  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  dwelling.  The  pursuers 
nearly  succeeded  in  forcing  their  way  in,  pell-mell,  with  the  fugi 
tives  ;  and  when  the  latter  finally  succeeded  in  securing  posses 
sion,  the  former  had  made  so  many  prisoners  —  some  of  rank  — 
that  they  covered  their  own  retreat  from  the  fire  of  the  building, 
by  the  interposition  of  their  captives.  It  was  on  this  occasion, 
and  thus,  that  Lieutenant  Manning,  of  the  legion,  carried  off 
Major  Barry,  the  wit  and  poet  par  excellence  of  the  British 
army.  Barry,  though  a  man  of  considerable  self-esteem,  was. 
of  diminutive  dimensions ;  and  tradition  describes  Manning  as 
taking  him  off  on  his  back . 

"Sir,"  said  the  captive,  "do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  Set  me 
down  immediately  !  I  am  Major  Harry  Barry,  sir,  adjutant-gen 
eral  of  the  British  army  ! " 

"Very  glad,  indeed,  to  hear  it,"  answered  Manning.  "The 
very  person  I  have  been  so  anxious  to  see  ! " 

And  hoisting  him  upon  his  back,  he  carried  him  off,  at  a  trot, 
the  Britisli  musketeers  not  daring  to  fire  at  the  captor  lest  they 
should  hurt  his  distinguished  prisoner  ! 

But  there  were  many  far  less  fortunate1  than  '.Manning.  The 
American  officers,  eagerly  striving  to  disentangle  ll.ri"  men  from 
the  tents  in  which  they  were  revelling,  became  conspicuous 
objects  for  the  aim  of  the  fusileers  from  the  house.  The  fire 
from  this  quarter  grew,  momentarily,  more  and  more  destructive, 
while  everywhere  about  the  field  the  confusion  was  predomi 
nant.  Lee's  dragoons,  under  Major  Eggleston,  meanwhile, 
charged  Coffin's  cavalry,  without  success,  and  were  compelled 


BATTLE   OF   EUTAW.  521 


to  retire  Coffin  and  Marjoribanks,  both  having  succeeded  in 
baffling  their  immediate  assailants,  made  simultaneous  move 
ments  upon  the  field.  The  American  troops,  scattered  among 
the  tents,  fastening  upon  the  liquors,  had  grown  unmanageable 
Greene  beheld  his  danger,  and  vainly  ordered  a  retreat.  Corn's 
during  this  time,  had  made  his  way  to  the  rear  of  the  tents,  an^ 
the  sabres  of  his  cavalry  were  teaching  lessons  of  terror  to  the 
refractory,  to  whom  their  officers  had  foiled  to  teach  subordina 
tion.  Here  he  was  encountered  by  Hampton,  leading  the  rem- 
aant  of  Washington's  command,  and  sustained  by  a  detachment 
iroin  the  mounted  men  of  Marion.  A  sharp  passage  followed, 
?vhich  emptied  a  good  many  saddles ;  and  it  was  on  this  occa 
tioii  that  Sinclair  caught  sight  of  Inglehardt,  as  he  swept  with 
hip  squad  over  a  group  of  fugitives  emerging  from  *,lie  tents 
With  a  wild  cheer,  our  partisan  colonel  darted  after  his  quarry, 
making  sure  of  his  prey.  He  descended  like  lightning,  unex 
pectedly,  upon  the  enemy  he  sought.  The  strife  was  of  the 
yiiortest.  The  powerful  form  of  Sinclair,  as  he  rose  in  his  stir 
rups,  and  swung  aloft  his  claymore,  expecting,  the  next  moment, 
to  cut  down  the  loyalist  captain,  seemed,  on  a  sudden,  to  the 
eyes  of  Inglehardt,  like  that  of  some  terrible  angel  commis 
sioned  for  his  destruction.  His  instincts  got  the  better  of  his 
manhood.  He  recoiled  from  the  collision,  and  whirled  behind 
a  tent,  which,  as  Sinclair  dashed  after  him,  was  overthrown  in 
the  rush,  and  fell  partly  upon  the  head  and  neck  of  our  dra 
goon's  horse.  Before  he  could  extricate  himself,  Inglehardt  had 
disappeared  from  the  scene  —  from  the  Held;  for,  believing 
everything  lost  —  ignorant  of  the  rally  of  Marjoribanks  as  well 
as  Coffin,  and  seeing  the  latter  driven  before  the  dragoons  of 
Hampton,  he  obeyed  only  the  counsels  of  his  own  fear,  and  led 
the  remnant  of  his  troop  into  the  deep  thickets,  whence  he 
made  his  way  into  the  nearest  swamp  harborage. 

The  field  now  presented  an  appearance  of  indescribable  ter 
ror  and  confusion.  Small  squads  were  busy  in  separate  strifes, 
here  and  there ;  the  American  officers  vainly  seeking  to  rally 
the  scattered  regulars ;  the  mounted  partisans,  seeking  to  cover 
the  fugitives ;  while,  from  the  house,  the  command  of  Sheridan 
was  blazing  away  with  incessant  musketry,  telling  fearfully 
upon  all  who  came  within  their  range.  Meanwhile,  watcLful 


522  EUTAW. 

• 

of  every  chance,  Majoribanks  had  changed  his  ground,  keeping 
still  in  cover,  but  nearer  now  to  the  scene  of  action,  and  with  a 
portion  of  his  command  concealed  behind  the  picketed  garden. 
In  this  position  he  subjected  the  American  cavalry  to  another 
severe  handling,  as  they  approached  the  garden,  delivering  a 
fire  so  destructive,  that  according  to  one  of  the  colonels  on 
Hampton's  left:  "He  thought  every  man  killed  but  himself!" 
It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  confusion  that  Peyre  St.  Julien 
caught  sight  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  at  the  head  of  a  small 
body  of  volunteer  cavalry.  To  sweep  toward  him  with  what 
remained  of  his  own  corps,  was  the  instant  impulse  of  our 
partisan.  Fitzgerald  saw  him  approach,  and,  nowise  loath, 
gallantly  applied  the  spurs  to  his  steed  to  shorten  the  space 
between  them.  •  The  followers  of  both  leaders,  meanwhile, 
dashed  to  the  encounter  headlong,  and  but  a  few  moments  suf 
ficed  for  St.  Julien's  dragoons  to  ride  over  the  few  volunteer 
gentlemen,  whom  Fitzgerald  had  drawn  together,  with  the  view 
to  a  diversior  ^n  the  fiell  at  the  proper  moment.  They  we're, 
anything  but  t»  match  for  the  vigorous,  well-mounted  dragoons 
of  Sinclair.  But,  though  they  melted  away,  Fitzgerald,  him 
self,  drew  firmly  and  fiercely  toward  his  assailant.  And  St. 
Julien  spurred  forward  to  the  encounter.  Already  his  sabre 
was  uplifted,  already  had  he  risen  in  his  stirrup  prepared  to 
smite  and  hew  down!  But,  suddenly,  he  paused;  lowered  his 
sabre,  making  the  graceful  salute,  instead  of  the  savage  stroke;  and 
said,  bowing  gracefully: — 

"  My  lord,  you  arc  hurt!  You  are  wounded.  Let  me  help  you 
out  of  this  melee." 

"No!  never  a  prisoner,  sir,  never!"  answered  Fitzgerald,  very 
faintly,  and  still  showing  fight.  But  he  was  sinking  from  a  still 
bleeding  wound.  He  was  growing  faint  and  dizzy. 

"By  no  means,  sir!  As  a  friend,  as  a  gentleman,  my  lord,  I  pro 
pose  to  help  you.  Give  me  your  hand,  sir,  my  honor  goes  with  it. 
There,  sir.  Keep  up  but  a  few  moments,  now,  till  we  can  get  safely 
into  the  wood!" 

And,  under  the  shelter  of  St.  Julien,  Lord  Edward  reached 
the  wood,  and  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  field  of 
battle  they  found  a  hut,  in  which  a  negro  crouched,  trembling 


BATTLE   OP   EUTAW.  523 

terror  at  their  approach.  St.  Jnlien  helped  Fitzgerald 
"•om  his  horse,  and  into  the  hovel.  He  said  to  the  negro : — 

"  What's  your  name,  boy  ?" 

"  Tony,  maussa !" 

"Get  some  water,  Tony — quick."  The  negro  brought  hia 
bucket.  Fitzgerald  drank.  St.  Julie.n  laid  him  down  upon  the 
floor,  bound  up  his  wound,  which  was  in  the  thigh  —  a  sword 
thrust  —  deep  in  the  flesh,  but  not  serious  ;  exhausting  only  from 
the  great  flow  of  blood.  This  done,  and  as  he  could  no  more, 
St.  Julien  prepared  to  leave  him. 

"  This  is  very  generous,  sir,"  said  Fitzgerald. 

The  other  smiled  —  "It  is  what  you  would  do,  my  lord" 
•  Then,  addressing  the  negro — "Tony  —  take  care  of  thr  gentle 
man  !  Wait  on  him  well !  Do  all  that  he  tells  you,  and  you 
will  be  rewarded.  If  you  do  not  I  will  hang  you !  Bo  you 
understand  that  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  mass  cappin !" 

"  Very  well !     Remember  what  I  say  !" 

"  I  yerry  maussa  !     I  guine  do  jes'  wha'  you  tell  me." 

"  I  must  leave  you  for  the  present,  my  lord.  I  can  do  no 
more." 

"  Oh !  thanks,  thanks !  You  have  done  much.  You  have 
saved  my  lif'3,  I  believe  " 

"  If  mine  is  spared  me,"  said  the  other,  "  I  will  try  to  come 
.0  you.  If  we  keep  the  field,  I  will  surely  do  so." 

He  wrung  the  hands  of  Fitzgerald  warmly,  as  he  hurried 
away.  In  half  an  hour  after,  Colonel  Washington,  wounded, 
and  a  prisoner  to  the  British,  was  brought  to  the  phelter  of  the 
very  same  hovel ;  and  subsequently,  by  the  curious  caprice  of 
Fortune,  Fitzgerald  became  his  custodian,  when  they  were  both 
removed  to  the  city.* 

*  Tony  proved  faithful.  He  obeyed  St.  Julien's  commands  to  the  letter. 
Fitzgerald,  in  gratitude  for  his  services,  gave  him  an  Irish  in  place  of  a  Caro 
lina  lord.  Without  giving  any  heed  to  the  right  of  property,  he  carried  Tony 
with  him  to  Europe,  where  he  served  him  to  the  close  of  his  career.  See 
Moore's  "Life  of  Fit/gerald."  Mr.  Moore  tells  the  story  somewhat  different 
from  ourselves.  The  difference  is  not  substantial,  but  ours  is  the  proper  ver 
sion.  The. errors  of  the  historian  are  somewhat  amusing.  We  have  exposed 
icme  of  them  already.  An  anecdote  which  Moore  gives,  of  Fitzgerald,  may 
tltly  close  this  note.  When  his  lordship  in/  suffering  of  tiic  \vcuuds  of  which 


<-»2  fc'UTAW. 

St.  Julien,  returning  to  the  field,  found  all  in  confusion  as  b« 
fore.  The  two  six-pounders  of  the  Americans,  which  had  ac 
eompanied  their  second  line,  were  brought  up  to  batter  the 
house.  But,  in  the  stupid  ardor  of  those  having  them  in  charge 
they  had  been  run  up  within  fifty  yards  of  the  building,  ai*d 
(he  cannoneers  were  picked  off  by  Sheridan's  marksmen  as  fa.st 
as  they  approached  the  guns.  The  whole  fire  from  the  Windows 
•vas  concentrated  upon  the  artillerists,  and  they  were  either  all 
killed  or  driven  away.  This  done,  Marjoribanks  promptly  sal 
lied  forth  from  his  cover  into  the  field,  seized  upon  the  aban 
doned  pieces  and  hurried  them  under  cover  of  the  house  before 
any  effort  could  be  made  to  save  them.  He  next  charged  the 
scattered  parties  of  Americans  among  the  tents,  or  upon  the 
Geld,  and  drove  them  before  him.  Covered,  finally,  by  the 
mounted  men  of  Marion  and  Hampton,  the  infantry  found  safety 
in  the  wood,  and  were  rallied.  The  British  were  too  mucn 
crippled  to  follow,  and  dared  not  advance  from  the  immediate 
Cf  ver  of  their  fortress. 

NTo  more  could  be  done.  The  laurels  won  in  the  first  act  of 
this  exciting  drama  v;rere  all  withered  in  the  second.  Both  par 
ties  claimed  a,  victory.  Tf  belonged  to  neither.  The  British 
were  beaten  from  the  ht-id  ..*  the  point  of  the  bayonet;  sought 
shelter  in  a  fortress,  and  repulsed  their  assailants  from  that  for 
tress,  It  is  to  the  shame  and  discredit  of  the  Americans  that 
they  were  repulsed.  The  victory  was  in  their  hands.  Bad 
conduct  in  the  men,  and  bad  gensralship,  sufficed  to  rob  them 
leservcdly  of  the  honors  of  tlia  field  But  most  of  the  advan 
tages  remained  in  their  handc.  They  had  lost,  it  is  true,  se 
verely  ;  twenty-one  of  our  jfficers  perished  on  the  field  :  and 
the  aggregate  of  killed,  wounded,  and  missing,  exceeded  one 
fourth  of  the  number  with  which  they  had  gone  into  battle. 
Henderson,  Pickens,  Howard,  and  many  other  officers  of  dit? 
tinction,  were  among  the  wounded.  They  had  also  lost  two  Oj 

IM  died  in  1798,  nc  was  reminded  by  a  Charleston  friend  oT  his  wounds  at 

Eutaw,  which  had  led  to  their  first  intimacy.     Fitegsrald  replied:  "Ah!  1 

-'»»  wounded  then  in  a  different  cause  ;  that  wan  in  fighting  against  Liberty 

—  this  in  fighting  for  i  .\"     He  was  another  o»  th^  Irish  victims  to  British 

'  7i/pation      See,  on  this  sr.'Ho^t,  the  remarks  of  Sinclair,  Chapter  XVI.  -.*. 

Tr*  For*  "-era." 


BATTLE   OF   KUTAW  f> 

their  field-pieces,  and  had  taken  one  of  the  enemy  ;  and  all 
these  losses,  and  the  events  which  distinguished  them,  were 
quite  sufficient  to  rob  them  of  the  triumph  of  the  day.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  losses  of  the  British  were  still  greater.  The 
Americans  had  chased  them  from  the  field  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet ;  this  was  a  moral  loss  ;  plundered  their  camp  ;  and  at 
the  close  held  possession  of  the  field.  Stewart  fled  the  next 
day,  his  retreat  covered  by  Major  M'Arthur,  with  a  fresh  bri 
gade  from  Fairlawn,  which  had  been  called  up  for  his  succor. 
Marion  and  Lee  made  a  fruitless  attempj  to  intercept  this  re 
inforcement.  But  the  simultaneous  movement  of  Stewart  and 
M*  Arthur  enable;!  them  to  effect  a  junction,  and  thus  outnumber 
the  force  of  Marion.  Stewart  fled,  leaving  seventy  of  his  wound 
ed  to  the  care  of  his  enemies.  He  destroyed  his  stores,  broke 
ii})  a  thousand  stand  of  arms,  and,  shorn  of  all  unnecessary  bag 
gage,  succeeded  in  getting  safely  to  Fail-lawn.  His  slain, 
wounded,  and  missing,  numbered  more  than  half  the  force  with 
which  he  had  gone  into  battle.  The  Americans  carried  off  four 
hundred  and  thirty  prisoners,  which, added  to  the  seventy  taken 
in  the  morning,  made  an  aggregate  of  five  hundred.  One  of 
the  heaviest  of  the  British  losses  occurred  after  the  battle,  in 
the  death  of  Marjoribanks,  who  had  unquestionably  saved  the 
whole  British  army.  He  died,  not  long  after,  on  the  road  to 
Charleston.* 

*  Marjoribanks  acquired  the  esteem  of  the  Americans  by  his  general  good 
conduct  and  abilities.  He  died  of  fever  upon  the  march,  and  was  buried  on 
the  roadside.  A  rude  headboard  of  cypress,  the  inscription  cut  apparently 
with  a.  common  knife,  stood,  uninjured  by  man  or  time,  until  a  comparatively 
recent  period.  When  it  fell  into  decay,  a  marble  tablet  was  raised  over  the 
grave  by  members  of  the  Kavenel  family,  who  restored  the  old  inscription, 
which  rar  hus  :  "John  Marjoribanks,  Esq.,  Late  Major  to  the  19th  Regi 
ment  Infantry,  and  commanding  a  Flank  Battalion  of  his  Majesty's  army. 
Obiit  22d  October,  1781."  To  this  inscription,  the  liberal  and  amiable  gen 
tlemen,  by  whom  the  old  cypress  headboard  was  replaced  by  a  marble  tablet, 
udded  smiplj  —  "  This  slab  has  been  placed  over  the  grave  of  John  Marjori 
banks,  in  substitution  of  the  original  headboard  from  which  the  above  inscrip 
tion  was  copied.  June,  1842."  Thus,  sixty  years  after,  a  generous  enemy 
paid  tribute  to  the  virtues  of  the  soldier  who  had  been  forgotten  by  his  owr 
people.  The  old  cypress  headboard,  by-the-way,  was,  curiously  enough,  car 
ried  to  England  by  General  James  Hamilton,  and  sent  with  a  respectful  let- 
«r  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  .  lie  acknowledged  the  novel  present,  rathet 


526  EUTAW. 


CHAPTEE  XLIII. 

• 

PORGY  CRITICISES  THE  BATTLE  —  MILITIA  FASHION. 

THE  British  power  in  Carolina  was  broken  at  Eutaw.  True, 
there  was  no  complete  victory  for  the  Americans.  But  the  re 
sult  was  almost  the  same,  though  less  immediate  than  it  might 
have  been.  Even  the  field  was  retained  by  our  partisans; 
Colonel  Hampton's  command  being  left  in  possession  of  it,  while 
the  army  of  Greene  retired  a  few  miles  to  the  rear,  where  they 
could  procure  food  and  water.  It  was  the  purpose  of  the  Amer 
ican  general  to  renew  the  action  next  day  ;  but  he  pressed  the  pursuit 
in  vain.  The  retreat  of  Stewart  was  too  rapid  even  for  the  eager 
impulse  of  our  mounted  men.  But  we  must  not  follow  the  gen 
eral  events  of  the  war,  to  the  neglect  of  our  special  dramatis 
persona.  Let  us  return  to  those. 

Night  had  fallen ;  a  clear  and  pleasant  night  of  stars  and 
gentle  breezes.  Among  the  pines,  the  scattered  groups  of  our 
partisans  were  bivouacked,  mostly  without  tent  or  covering, 
save  that  of  the  trees  and  the  heavens.  One  of  these  groups, 
alone,  will  demand  our  attention.  Seen  in  the  blazing  camp- 
fires,  a  dozen  manly  forms  sate,  or  reclined,  together,  under  a 
clump  of  pines,  with  a  little  brooklet  tickling  by,  along  the 
slopes.  Heat  and  fatigue,  toil  and  wounds,  had  produced  their 
natural  effect,  in  exhaustion  and  great  weariness.  There  was 

cavalierly,  through  his  secretary.  That  General  Hamilton  should  suppose 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  <>''  the  British  government,  to  care  a  straw  for  such 
a  memento,  was  singularly  gratuitous.  Great  Britain  had  been  burying  her 
majors  Avithout  headboards  at  all,  in  every  region  to  which  her  Norman  am 
bition  had  carried  her  banner.  If  her  drum  responded  everywhere  to  the 
rising  of  the  sun  in  triumph,  it  had  everywhere  corresponding  with  his 
progress,  been  rolled  in  muffled  music,  to  the  burial  of  her  gallant  soldiery. 


PORGY   CRITICISES  THE   BATTLE.  527 


no  bustle,  no  parade.  When  they  spoke,  it  was  mostly  with  an 
evidence  of  languor,  if  not  of  sadness.  They  were  sad,  They 
had  reason  to  be  so.  They  had  to  mourn  the  loss  of  friends  and 
comrades,  and  to  think,  with  trembling,  of  the  wounds  of  others 
which  might  possibly  be  mortal.  Most  of  this  group  were  offi 
cers.  Some  of  them  had  griefs  and  anxieties  of  a  more  personal 
and  touching  nature  still,  which  kept  them  silent.  Sinclair  was 
one  of  this  .group;  St.  Peyre  another;  Captain  Porgy  a  third. 
The  latter  was  in  the  hands  of  the  surgeon  at  this  very  juncture. 
He  was  hurt  in  the  thigh,  not  seriously,  but  he  had  suffered  con 
siderable  loss  of  blood,  which  had  served,  in  some  degree,  to 
modify  his  usual  elasticity.  Still,  he  was  less  subdued  than  the 
rest;  and  his  words  flowed  almost  as  freely  as  ever.  He  was  in  an 
irascible  mood,  and  showed  no  small  impatience  at  the  deliberation, 
and  searching  examination,  of  the  surgeon  while  attending  to  his 
hurt . 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  that  will  do!  The  thing  is  nothing.  I  knew, 
all  the  while,  that  it  was  a  flesh  wound  only — nothing  to  make  a  fuss 
about.  It  will  take  a  long-winded  bullet  to  make  its  way  fairly  into 
my  citadel." 

"  You  bled  like  a  stuck  pig,  nevertheless,"  said  Mellichampe. 

"Had  you  said  'stuffed'  instead  of  'stuck,'  I  had  never  forgiven 
you,  Ernest.  The  comparison  is  irreverent,  anyhow! 

' '  Don't  risk  another,  my  dear  boy,  lest  you  make  me  angry  I 
am  in  the  humor  to  resent  any  impertinence  to-night.  I  have  been 
in  the  humor  to  fight  any,  the  best  friend,  half-a-dozen  times  to-day, 
Wounds  of  the  body,  I  feel  none.  I  got  this  in  the  beginning  of 
the  action.  It  was  smart  not  pain.  But  pain  there  is!  Great  God1 
to  think  of  our  useless  loss  to-day:  of  the  profligate  and  blundering 
waste  of  life;  of  those  poor  fellows  of  Washington's  legion,  most 
ridiculously  sacrificed;  of  a  complete  victory  suffered  to  slip  out 
of  our  hands,  when  we  had  only  to  close  upon  them,  and  make  it 
secure?" 

"Nay,  Porgy,  no  more!  What  good  will  it  do  to  canvass  the 
affair  so  close?  We  have  got  the  advantage,  if  not  the  victory.  We 
shall  be  wiser  of  our  mistakes  hereafter.  We  shall  know  better  next 
time." 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  Sinclair,  but  it  is  you  that  mistake.  We 
shall  never  repair  this  sort  of  blundering  if  we  never  expose 


528  EUTAW. 

it.  We  are  altogether  too  mealy-mouthed  when  we  come  to  the 
discussion  of  the  faults  and  blunders  of  the  great.  As  for  im 
proving  hereafter,  I  do  not  helieve  it,  so  long  as  we  serve  under 
the  same  leaders.  And,  there  is  a  particular  reason  why  we 
poor  militiamen,  rangers,  riflemen,  and  partisans,  as  we  are 
called,  should  lay  bare,  whenever  we  can,  the  vices  and  the 
worthlessnesses  of  these  martinets,  and  regulars,  who  invariably 
excuse  their  own  defeats  by  charging  their  disasters  upon  the 
militia.  Gates  had  it,  that  the  militia  ran  at  Camden.  And. 
no  doubt,  they  did.  And  very  right  too.  But  he,  himself,  was 
among  the  first  to  run.  I  do  not  so  much  blame  him  for  that. 
He  had  a  particularly  large  carcass  to  take  of,  and  a  world  f 
genius  and  ability  to  economize  and  preserve  for  other  more 
auspicious  occasions.  But  how  can  a  militia  be  expected  to 
stand  fight,  when  their  general  conducts  them  into  a  false  posi 
tion,  and  finds  himself  in  the  thick  of  battle  wit1  out  dreaming 
of  the  approach  of  an  enemy?  Now,  one  of  the  very  first 
necessities  of  a  general  is,  to  inspire  his  men  with  confidence. 
But  when  the  general's  own  incompetence  is  so  glaring  that  the 
meanest  camp  follower  is  able  to  detect  it,  how  should  you 
expect  to  inspire  this  confidence  ?  The  militiamen,  who  had  no 
weapons  but  our  mean,  long-handled,  bird  guns,  ™ithout  bayo 
nets,  are  pushed  forward,  in  the  first  rank,  to  encounter  British 
regulars,  all  of  whom  are  armed  with  the  best  Tower  muskets 
of  large  bore,  and  bristling  with  bayonets.  They  seem  to  be 
put  forward,  as  David  put  forward  Uriah,  to  be  slain  certainly. 
Why  are  they  thus  put  forward ;  forming  a.  regular  line  of  bat 
tle,  when  they  hav»,  no  means  of  resistance  when  it  comes  to 
the  push  of  steel  ?  To  be  slain  ?  Well,  no  ;  not  exactly  :  but 
really  to  draiv  the  enemy's  Jire,  in  order  to  lessen  the  dangers  to 
the  regulars  when  the  bayonet  is  required  to  be  used  !  In  other 
words,  they  are  food  for  powder.  Their  lives  are  nothing.  We 
can  waste  them  —  expose  them  —  and,  just  in  proprotion  as  they 
are  shot  down,  will  you  lessen  the  same  danger  to  those  who 
follow  them.  Well,  a  militiaman  understands  all  that.  He  sees 
that  there  is  no  scruple  shown  when  keis  to  be  sacrificed  —  that 
his  general  has  no  sympathy  with  him  —  that  he  exhibits  no 
such  economical  regard  for  7m  life,  that  he  shows  for  his  rogu 
lars;  and  thnt  he  should  bo,  exppctofl  *n  stand  the  chnrgo  of  a 


PORGY    CRITICISES   THE    BATTLE.  62£ 

which  he  himself  does  not  use,  is  quite  enough  to  make 
him  distrustful  of  a  generalship,  which  requires  him  to  take  the 
worst  risks  of  the  battle,  merely  to  lessen  the  danger  to  his 
favorites.  No  wonder  that  he  runs." 

"  But  our  fellows  did  not  run  to-day,  Porgy,  until  the  bayonets 
were  almost  into  them." 

"  True ;  and  why  ?  Because  they  are  mostly  old  soldiers, 
and  because  their  own  favorite  generals  were  immediately  in 
command.  And  let  me  say,  that  no  militia  in  the  world,  and 
few  regulars,  ever  behaved  better  than  our  boys  to-day.  Had 
you  swopped  guns  with  the  regulars,  and  put  (hem  forward,  to  do 
the  same  business,  and  endure  the  first  brunt  of  the  battle,  as 
our  fellows  did,  you  would  have  had  them  all  scampering  at  the 
first  volley.  But  the  case  is  not  altered  because  our  fellows 
stood  fire  manfully.  I  repeat,  that  this  whole  plan  of  battle  is 
false,  and  immoral,  which  thus  makes  a  first  regular  column  of 
attack,  of  a  badly -armed  militia." 

"  It  is  the  usual  plan,  nevertheless." 

"  And  it  is  the  secret  of  so  many  of  our  disasters !  It  is  a 
vicious  plan,  and  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  work  us 
defeat  in  every  action.  For,  do  you  not  see  that,  once  taught 
to  understand  that  he  is  expected  to  run,  if  not  shot,  the  in 
stincts  of  the  militiaman  are  always  ready; — well,  he  runs,  and, 
though  it  is  expected  that  he  will  run,  the  effect  of  such  an 
example  is  necessarily  bad  upon  the  regular  ;  he  has  not  only  an 
example,  but  a  plea  for  running  also.  But,  if  the  militia,  en 
masse,  and  in  their  panic,  fling  themselves  back  upon  an  ad 
vancing  column  of  regulars,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  escape  that 
degree  of  confusion,  which  is  next  in  effect  to  panic ;  and  the 
whole  army  is  thus  demoralized.  No.  You  must  employ  mili 
tiamen —  call  them  what  you -will,  sharpshooters  or  rangers,  on 
the  flanks,  and  as  skirmishers,  or,  when  they  are  old  soldiers, 
you  must  intermingle  them  with  the  regulars,  either  in  alternate 
bodies,  or,  as  a  second  line,  when  the  army  is  displayed  for 
battle.  Any  plan  but  the  present.  Disparaged  if  not  despised, 
denounced  as  only  made  to  run ;  without  the  proper  weapons 
for  close  combat ;  they  are  yet  required  to  exhibit  all  the  moral 
forces  which  are  needed  for  the  first  encounter ;  why,  every 
school-bo  v's  experience  might  correct  this  folly.  There  is  not 

23 


533  EUTAW. 

an  urchin,  knee-high  to  a  cock-sparrow,  but  will  tell  you  that 
Vhe  first  blow  is  always  half  the  battle." 

"  Well,  but,  Porgy,  it  is  admitted  that  the  army  to-day  suf 
fered  nothing,  from  the  first  line  being  made  up  wholly  ci  militia 
men." 

"  But  they  suffered !  But  that  is  nothing  to  the  argument 
Answer  me  !  Suppose  the  same  endurance,  hardihood,  and  au 
dacity,  which  our  boys  showed  to-day,  in  the  case  of  men  who, 
after  disorganizing  the  entire  British  line  by  their  sharp-shoot 
ing,  were  prepared,  with  proper  weapons,  to  start  forward  at 
the  pas  de  charge,  and  do  you  suppose  that  a  single  company 
of  the  enemy  could  have  escaped  annihilation  ?  That  is  the 
true  question.  The  army  lost  nothing  in  the  affair  to-day, 
perhaps,  because  of  their  first  line  being  militia.  Marion  and 
Pickens  have  the  art,  always,  of  keeping  their  men  firm  so 
long  as  they  are  disposed  to  keep  the  field  themselves.  B. 
how  many  such  leaders  as  Marion  and  Pickens  are  you  to  finu 
in  the  armies  of  the  world  1  Suppose,  however,  that  their  troops 
had  been  employed  in  the  woods  and  on  the  flanks  as  skirmish 
ers,  while  the  regulars  had  played  their  game  from  the  first,  and 
all  the  while,  as  manfully  with  their  bayonets  as  the  militia  did 
with  their  shot-guns  and  rifles  —  what,  then,  must  have  been 
the  result  1  The  annihilation  of  the  British  army  !  When  the 
British  line  pressed  upon  the  militia,  and  they  melted  away  out 
of  the  path  of  the  continentals,  the  British  column  was  already 
dreadfully  disorganized  —  in  fact,  hardly  a  line  at  all,  but  un 
dulating,  in  ridges  of  advances ;  here  a  billow,  and  there  a  gulf 
—  here  a  swell,  and  there  a  hollow — and  comparatively  easy 
game  for  a  uniform  charge  of  bayonets  brought  squarely  up  to 
the  business.  And  I  am  free  to  allow  that  the  continentals  did 
their  part  handsomely.  They  came  up  to  the  scratch  in  beau 
tiful  style ;  ar»d  here,  if  anywhere  in  America,  the  British  regu 
lars  were  met,  hand  to  hand,  and  beaten  at  their  own  weapon, 
the  bayonet  —  driven  from  the  field  before  the  bayonet !  But, 
would  they  have  been  thus  driven,  but  for  the  previous  havoc 
made  by  our  shot-guns,  and  their  subsequent  demoralization  at 
the  hands  of  our  militia  ?" 

"  That,  surely,  is  an  argument,  Porgy,  in  support  of  the  pref 
6nt  practice." 


.     PORGY   CRITICISES   THE   BATTLE.  581 

"  Not  so.  It  would  bo  an  argument,  perhaps  —  though  I  deny 
even  that  —  were  you  always  sure  of  y^-r  militia  as  you  might 
be  always  in  the  case  of  the  brigades  of  Marion  and  Pickens  ; 
but  if  sure  of  them,  why  not,  give  them  the  bayonets  also,  and 
let  them  rank  with  the  regulars  ?  The  fact  is,  we  are  perpetu 
ally  making  a  distinction  in  this  matter,  where  there  is  no  sub 
stantial  difference.  Look  to  the  real  meaning  of  your  phrase, 
and  all  veterans  are  regulars,  and  all  raw  troops  suffer  from  the 
inherent  difficulties  of  an  inexperienced  militia.  They  are  ranked 
as  militia  only  because  they  are  raw  ;  and  no  matter  what  the 
weapons  you  put  into  their  hands,  an  inexperienced  body  will 
be  apt  to  make  very  doubtful  use  of  them,  even  if  they  make 
any  use  at  all,  while  the  old  soldier  will  work  vigorously  with 
any  sort  cf  tool.  It  is,  in  fact,  because  of  the  rawness  of  the 
British  troops  of  late,  that  we  have  got  most  of  our  advantages 
over  them.  Their  new  Irish  recruits  know  nothing  of  drill,  do 
not  appreciate  the  moral  strength  derived  from  the  touch  of  a 
comrade's  elbow,  have  no  knowledge  of  the  gun,  whether  rifle 
or  musket,  and  are  only  beginning  the  necessary  training  for 
battle  when  the  battle  is  upon  them.  Here  lies  much  of  the 
secret  of  our  late  successes,  and  particularly  that  of  to-day, 
wuen  the  two  lines  came  to  the  push  of  the  bayonet. 

"  But,  dismissing  this  point,  let  us  look  to  other  matters  which 
more  certainly  cut  us  off  from  the  victory  of  which  we  were 
secure. 

"  The  battle  was  clearly  won  when  the  British  line  was  bro 
ken,  and  their  masses  scattered  and  driven  from  the  field.  How 
was  it  lost,  then  ?  By  the  dispersion  of  our  regulars  among  the 
tents ;  by  the  mad  fury  with  which  they  fastened  upon  rum  and 
brandy.  But  where  were  their  officers,  that  they  were  suffered 
to  do  this?" 

"  Pendleton  says,"  was  the  remark  of  Singleton,  "  that  when 
Greene  sent  to  Lee  to  charge  Coffin,  Lee  was  not  with  his  cav 
alry  at.  all.  Subsequently,  he  was  found  riding  about  the  field 
witv-.  a  few  dragoons,  giving  orders  to  everybody  —  in  fact, 
usurping  the  entire  command  " 

"  Well,  where  was  Greene  when  his  favorite  was  thus  em 
ployed  1  What  was  he  doing  1  Should  he  not  have  been  pres 
ent?  Why  did  he  not,  instead  of  sending  an  anr<y-surgcGn  tr 


EUTAW. 

tell  Williams  to  sweep  the  field  with  the  bayonets  of  his  divis 
ion-  — why  did  he  not  gallop  to  their  head,  and  lead  them  into 
action  himself?  That  was  the  moment  when  a  general  should 
peril  himself  greatly,  if  necessary,  in  order  to  achieve  great  re 
suits.  It  was  the  crisis  of  the  action.  The  British  were  sha 
king  everywhere.  If,  then,  the  general  had  dashed  to  the 
front,  and,  with  all  the  thunders  of  his  voice,  had  cried  out  I  - 
his  men,  '  Follow  ME,  boys,  and  let  us  sweep  these  red-coats 
from  the  field  !'  they  would  have  gone  forward  with  a  madden 
ing  cheer ;  would  have  stormed  the  gates  of  h — 1 ;  would  have 
never  paused  nor  faltered,  never  stopped  for  tents,  or  drink,  o; 
gaudy  equipage  and  plunder ;  and  we  should  have  had  the 
brick-house  in  our  possession  before  Sheridan  could  have  won 
the  entrance  with  a  single  man.  Then,  there  could  have  been 
no  Lee  to  usurp  the  field,  and  assume  the  grand  direction  of 
affairs.  Where  was  your  general  all  this  time,  that  the  subor 
dinates  were  playing  fool  and  monkey  ?  In  the  rear,  and  de 
spatching  slow  orders  through  unofficial  agents>  whom  nobody 
was  bound  to  recognise." 

"  Greene  was  very  angry  with  Lee,  according  to  Pendle- 
ton." 

"Angry!  He  should  have  ordered  him  under  arrest  —  or- 
deied  him  to  the  rear  —  nay,  rat  him  down  — cut  him  out  of  the 
path  ;  anything,  rather  than  suffer  such  an  impertinent  and  ridic 
ulous  proceeding.  And  had  Greene  been  present  —  there  — in  the 
very  place,  where  he  should  have  been  —  he  probably  would  have 
done  nothing  less !  But,  even  this  was  really  a  small  matter 
compared  with  some  other  proceedings  of  this  day.  We  owe 
oar  worst  mischief  to  other  causes.  When  the  British  w^re 
driven  into  the  house,  they  held,  in  that,  and  one  other  position 
only — the  thick  wood  on  the  edge  -)f  Eutaw  creek,  where  Mar- 
joribanks  was  posted  with  his  flank  brigade.  Everywhere  besides, 
they  were  routed  ;  flying  in  absolute,  irretrievable  defeat  and  re 
treat,  in  all  other  quarters.  What  remained  to  us  1  Why,  we 
had  them  in  our  grasp  completely.  We  had  only  to  bring  our 
fieldpieces  into  action.  Well.  The  fieldpieces  were  brougH 
up,  and  instead  of  taking  position  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  house,  and  battering  it  down  at  leisure, 
what  do  the  blockheads  do.  but  rush  both  pieces  up  to  within 


PORGT   CRITICISES   THE    BATTLE.  638 

fifty  yards  of  the  building,  while  the  sharpshooters  swept  away 
the  artillerists  as  fast  as  they  approached  the  gnus.  Where 
were  the  commanding  officers  here?  Where  the  sense,  or  gen 
eralship  ?  What  next  1  Why  we  are  to  dislodge  Marjoribanks 
from  Iris  cover  along  the  creek.  And  how  is  this  to  be  done  ? 
Marjoribanks,  with  three  hundred  picked  infantry,  well  armed 
with -muskets  and  bayonets,  and  covered  besides  with  a  dense 
forest  oT  black-jack,  is  to  be  dislodged  by  horse.  By  horse  ! 
Was  ever  such  an  absurdity  conceived  before  ?  Washington's 
cavalry  is  required  to  hurl  itself  upon  this  wall  of  black-jacks, 
this  forest  of  bayonets  —  a  de"nse  wall;  a  bristling  barrier  of 
steel  blades — and  the  fortress  to  be  won  by  unsupported  cav 
alry.  Why,  had  the  object,  been  the  utter  annihilation  of  the 
corps,  the  device  could  not  have  been  better  chosen.  Even 
were  there  no  bayonets,  no  muskets,  no  Marjoribanks,  the  black 
jacks  would  have  proved  impervious  to  all  the  cavalry  in  the 
world ;  and  so  these  poor  fellows  were  really  sent  to  be  slaugh 
tered;  and  when  half  their  saddles  were  emptied,  you  might 
see  the  survivors,  still  wilfully  obedient,  failing  to  urge  their 
horses  forward,  wheeling  about  and  trying  to  back  them  into 
the  thicket,  while  smiting  behind  them  with  their  broadswords 
Of  course,  a  moment's  reflection  shows  us  that  when  they  were 
ordered  on  such  a  duty,  the  wits  of  the  general  were  in  the 
moon  !  Such  folly  is  without  example.  And  when  we  reflect 
that  the  whole  necessity  was  reduced  to  a  simple  use  of  the  two 
pieces  of  artillery  !  With  one  of  these  pieces  battering  down 
the  house  at  two  hundred  yards,  with  the  other,  stuffed  to  the 
muzzle  with  grape  and  raking  the  copse  where  Marjoribanks 
was  covered,  twenty  minutes  would  have  sufficed  for  dfslodging 
both  parties ;  when,  with  Washington  and  Lee's  cavalry,  both 
on  hand,  and  our  mounted  men  of  Maham  and  Hony,  we  had 
every  man  of  them  doomed  as  food  for  the  sabre,  and  nothing 
but  prompt  surrender  could  have  saved  the  lives  of  a  single 
mother's  son  of  them  !  I'll  engage  that  if  Marion  had  been  the 
master  of  the  army  to-day,  we  had  done  these  very  things,  and 
no  less.  Regulars,  indeed  !  I  tell  you  that,  all  old  soldiers  are 
regulars,  even  though  you  arm  them  with  pitchforks  only 
Had  our  militia  shown  the  white  feather  to-day,  in  the  first  of 
\he  action,  tliev  would  have  been  burdened  with  the  whole  dis 


£34  BUT  AW. 

credit  of  its  failure.  Had  they  been  the  troops  to  break  into 
the  British  camp,  and  to  grow  insubordinate,  while  wallowing 
in  strong  drink,  we  should  never  have  heard  the  end  of  it ! 
Luckily,  they  fought  this  day  to  make  these  continentals  stare 
and  we  owe  it  to  them,  and  their  weapons,  that  all  of  th'ese  fine 
regulars  were  not  slaughtered  in  these  tents.  But  for  our  cov 
ering  rifles,  Coffin  and  Marjoribanks  would  have  swept  every 
scamp  of  them  into  eternity." 

"  Supper,  maussa !"  quoth  Tom,  the  cook,  entering  at  this 
moment,  and  making  a  spread  upon  the  turf. 

"  But  you  will  eat  nothing,  Porgy,"  said  the  surgeon. 

"Will  I  not!"  roared  the  other,  looking  round  with  great 
eyes  of  indignation.  "  Shall  a  hole  in  my  thigh  insist  upon  a 
corresponding  hole  in  my  stomach  ?  Because  I  am  hurt  shall  I 
have  no  appetite  ?  Because  you  Avould  heal,  have  you  a  right 
to  starve  me  ?  This  is  a  ridiculous  feature,  my  dear  doctor,  in 
your  medical  philosophy.  Let  me  tell  you  that  one  great  secret 
of  the  art  of  healing  is  to  strengthen  the  defence  of  Nature,  so 
that  she  herself  may  carry  on  the  war  against  disease.  And  let 
me  toll  you  further,  that  one  of  Tom's  suppers  will  hurt  no  man 
who  sleeps  with  an  easy  conscience.  Starve  your  sinners  as 
much  as  you  please,  my  dear  fellow ;  they  deserve  it  on  moral 
grounds,  and  it  may  help  them  in  physical  matters ;  but  for  a 
virtuous  soldiery,  like  ours,  feed  them  well  and  they  need  no 
physic.  But,  where  would  you  go,  Sinclair,  now,  just  as  sup 
per's  coming  in  ?" 

"  I  wish  none,  Porgy.     I  have  no  appetite." 

"No  appetite!  Go  after  him,  St.  Julien.  Something's 
wrong.  A  Christian  without  an  appetite  is  as  strange  an 
anomaly  as  a  soul  without  a  wing!" 

But  St.  Julien  did  not  stir. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  he,  "  and  do  not  observe  him,  Porgy. 
He  has  need  to  be  sad  just  now.  He  has  much  to  trouble 
nim." 

"  Well,  there's  a  need  of  sadness,  at  times,  if  only  to  make 
the  sunshine  agreeable.  Let  him  go.  We  shall  keep  some 
thing  for  him  when  he  gits  back.  All  ready,  Tom  ?" 

"You  kaint  be  too  quick  wid  do  supper,  maussa.  He  jist 
warm  enough  for  de  swallow  " 


PORGY    CBITlUibEfc   THE    BATTLE. 

"  Draw  nigh,  and  fall  to,  boys.  What  if  there  be  blockheads 
in  camp,  shall  we  go  to  bed  supperless  for  that  ?  Because  there 
are  ambitious  dunderheads,  shall  good  soldiers  feed  on  bullets 
only  ?  I  dream  of  a  time,  when  every  man  will,  perforce,  fall 
into  his  right  place !  In  other  words,  I  think  a  millenium  pos 
sible.  Meanwhile,  let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  satisfied,  though  to 
morrow  we  sup  on  steol '" 


SUTAW 


CHAPTER    XL1  V. 

NELLY    FLOYD    GUIDES   SINCLAIR. 

SINCLAIR  joined  Hampton  in  his  lonely  bivouac  on  the  field 
of  battle.  Very  mournful,  indeed,  was  the  spectacle,  even  9*1 
beheld  in  the  vague,  imperfect  starlight.  There  lay,  all  about, 
scattered  heaps  — -still  —  silent,  unconscious  —  which,  they  well 
knew,  were  a!l  but  five  hours  ago,  warm  with  life,  eager  with 
hope,  improvident  with  impulse.  And  now  the  wildcat  will 
troop  over  their  bosoms,  and  not  one  of,  them  will  shudder 
There  lay  ths  horse,  whose  nostrils  lately  dilated  with  energy 
and  snuffed  the  blood  and  the  battle  with  a  fiery  passion.  Ride 
and  chariot  are  overthrown.  Death  sits  crouching  in  the  mid*', 
of  all,  with  great  grinning  jaws,  glaring  about  with  phosphoric 
eyes,  from  bloody  sockets,  drinking  in  the  horrible  odors,  as  if 
they  were  so  much  wine,  that  already  began  to  reek  up  from 
that  sad  atmosphere  of  mortality. 

Sinclair  strode  lonely  over  the  field,  hardly  answering  the 
sentinels  as  he  went  by,  his  thoughts  elsewhere,  though  the 
cruel  spectacle  around  him,  might  well  have  kept  Thought  fixed 
to  the  spot,  and  busied  in  her  intensest  exercise. 

"  Ha  !  sir  :     TSG  you  see  that  —  you  ?" 

And  as  the  sentinel  spoke  he  shivered. 

"See!  what!"  answered  Sinclair;  scarcely  comprehending 
the  other's  emotions,  and  half  indifferent  to  what  he  said.  The 
soldier  pointed  him  to  a  group  of  dead  —  their  armor  gleaming, 
above  the  heap  —  conspicuous  enough  in  the  starlight.  Around 
this  group,  a  tall  slight  figure  was  seen  to  hover  and  circle,  and 
flit,  appearing  and  disappearing.  Occasionally  it  appeared  tc 


NELLY   FLOYD   GUIDES  SINCLAIR.  537 

stoop,  and  seemed  to  be  busy  in  the  examination  of  the  slain. 
In  husky  tones  the  sentinel  continued : — 

"  I  have  seen  it,  colonel,  moving  all  about,  far  as  my  eye 
cjuld  reach;  and  it  stooped  jest  so,  as  it  does  now,  and  felt 
about,  jest  as  it's  adoing  now,  all  among  the  dead  bodies." 

The  awe  and  horror  expressed  by  the  soldier,  did  not  affect 
Sinclair.  At  once  the  thought  occurred  to  him — "Can  it  be 
that  we,  too,  have  strippers  of  the  slain,  even  as  in  the  terrible 
battle-fields  of  which  we  read,  in  Europe,  where  poverty  becomes 
desperate,  and  where  crime  is  so  numerous  and  reckless,  that 
no  veneration  remains  among  men  —  where  they  rob  the  dead, 
and  extinguish  life  in  the  wounded  ?" 

"  I  will  see !"  said  he  to  the  soldier,  who  had  plucked  him  by 
the  arm,  "  I  will  see."  And  he  was  darting  forward,  when  the 
sentinel  held  him  back. 

"  Better  not,  colonel." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"Perhaps,  sir  —  I  reckon  it's  —  a  ghost!" 

"  Perhaps  !"  said  Sinclair  quietly,  as  he  shook  off  the  soldier 
and  went  forward.  "  Perhaps  it  is ;  I  will  see."  And,  to  the 
consternation  and  admiration  of  the  sentinel,  he  hurried  toward 
the  object  whose  appearance  seemed  so  unnatural,  and  whose 
employments  seemed  so  mysterious,  among  the  slaughtered  of 
the  field. 

The  supposed  spectre  was  busied  turning  over  the  bodies 
among  a  pile  of  British.  Sinclair  had  approached  so  nigh  that 
he  could  distinguish  the  red  color  of  their  uniforms.  He  saw 
that  one  of  them  was  an  officer.  He  saw  the  unknown  ob 
ject  of  his  curiosity  turn  the  wan,  blear  face  of  this  officer 
»p  to  the  starlight.  He  heard  her  say  —  for  the  person 
n-as  a  woman  —  in  tones  of  relief — "He  is  not  here!  He 
must  be  safe!"  And  it  was  only  after  this,  that,  raising  her 
form  from  the  spot,  she  discovered  the  near  approach  of  our 
partisan  colonel.  In  the  same  moment,  Sinclair  distinguished, 
in  the  searcher  of  the  slain,  the  strange  wild  girl,  Nelly  Floyd, 
who,  in  some  degree,  held  in  her  hands  the  clues  to  that  mys 
tery  which  was  then  his  anxiety.  He  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
pleasure,  and  sprang  forward. 

"Is  it  you,  my  girl  ?" 

23* 


538  EUTAW. 

"Yes,  sir!"  she  answered  meekly,  and  wit-bout  surprise  01 
alarm  —  "Yes,  sir,  an.d  as  soon  as  I  am  done  here,  I  meant  to 
come  and  seek  you." 

"  Ah  !  I  am  glad  to  hear  that !  But  what  can  you  be  doing 
here  ?  What  can  a  young  girl  like  you  have  to  do  in  such  a 
horrid  scene  as  this,  and  at  such  a  fearful  hour'?" 

'Ah!  sir,  look  over  this  battle-field,  where  so  many  noble 
forms  have  perished  on  both  sides,  and  think  how  many  young 
girls,  and  how  many  ^ld  men  and  women  too,  would  be  weeping 
now,  could  they  only  know  who  sleep  here  among  the  slain  ! 
The  young  and  old  who  live,  still  have  a  mournful  interest  in 
the  dead.  I  have  now  no  kindred  of  my  own  living,  and  yet  I 
feel  that  I  could  weep  for  some  that  are  here.  And  I  thought 
k*f  one  dear  lady,  who  had  a  son  in  this  battle;  and  I  saw  him, 
trom  the  thicket,  sir,  as  he  led  his  little  company  into  battle ; 
and  I  saw  the  shattered  remnant  of  his  company,  as  they  vo.ro 
scattered  by  the  dragoons  of  Mali  am  ;  and  the  young  officer  was 
not  with  them  then ;  and  I  have  been  looking  for  him  over  all 
the  field ;  but  I  do  not  find  him  ;  and  even  now,  sir,  he  may  be 
groaning  somewhere,  for  a  single  cup  of  water  to  quench  his 
thirst." 

"You  are  a  brave  and  noble  girl,"  said  Sinclair.  "  Tell  me 
the  name  of  this  officer,  my  girl ;  perhaps  I  can  tell  you  some 
thing  about  him." 

The  answer  was  given  in  hasty  accents,  as  if  the  speaker 
dreaded  to  hear  her  voice,  or  to  trust  it  with  the  necessary 
burden.  She  answered  somewhat  indirectly  : — 

"  He  was  a  lieutenant  of  rifles,  sir,  the  company  had  a  green 
uniform.  He,  too,  had  a  green  uniform  :  and  —  and  —  sir.  he  is 
the  son  of  a  dear  good  lady  whom  I  loved  very  much  —  the 
good  lady  Nelson  —  I  owe  her  much,  sir,  very  much — for  she 
protected  and  trained  my  childhood  —  and  so  T  would  have 
found  her  son  if  I  could,  and,  helped  him  if  he  were  wounded ; 
«,r— " 

Sinclair,  finding  her  beginning  to  halt,  now  spoke. 
'  I   am    glad,  my  good    girl,  to   relieve   all    your   anxieties, 
lieutenant  Nelson  is  safe  —  unhurt,  though  a  prisoner.     He  fell 
into  my  own  hands  to-day,  and  has  beea  marched  to  the  rear 
of  the  arrny  with  the  rr-st  of  tlio  prisoners." 


NELLY   FLOYD    GUIDES   SINCLAIR.  539 

"A  prisoner!"  and  she  clasped  her  hands  together.  "But, 
there  ie  nothing  against  him  ?" 

"  Nothing  !  He  is  in  honorable  captivity,  with  five  hundred 
other  brave  fellows,  who  will  be  well  treated  until  honorably 
exchanged.  You  shall  see  him  to-morrow,  if  you  will." 

"  Oh  !  sir,  I  thank  you,  but — "  quickly,  "  I  do  not  wish  now 
to  see  him.  You  say  he  is  unhurt,  unwounded  —  and  that  is  all, 
sir.  I  do  not  care  to  see  him." 

"  TJmvoundeu —  a  little  bruised  and  sore  perhaps,  for  he  was 
thrown  down  somewhat  rudely ;  but  otherwise  he  is  quite  safe 
—  wholly  uninjured,  and  will  not  be  long  a  prisoner." 

"  Thanks,  sir  !  Thanks,  Colonel  Sinclair  !  Oh,  sir  !  if  harm 
had  come  to  Sherrod  Nelson,  I  think  I  should  have  died,  sir ; 
for  it  would  have  been  the  death  of  his  poor  mother  —  the  good 
Lady  Nelson.  He  is  the  very  apple  of  her  eye.  And  now, 
Colonel  Sinclair,  since  I  have  no  other  reason  for  searching  in 
this  bloody  field,  and  no  reason,  now,  to  refuse  to  do  what  your 
scout  would  have  forced  me  to  do  when  I  saw  you  before,  let 
us  go  at  once,  sir,  to  find  the  place  where  the  boy  and  his  father 
are  confined  by  the  tories  in  the  swamp." 

"  Ah !  my  good  girl,  are  you  really  willing  ?  Shall  we  go 
now?  at  night !" 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  sooner  the  better.  They  are  in  the  hands  of  a 
very  bad  man,  and  he  will  be  there  to-night.  He  fled  into  the 
woods,  very  near  where  I  was  hiding,  when  the  battle  was 
going  on  ;  he,  and  such  of  his  people  as  escaped.  Several  were 
slain,  I  think,  by  your  own  troopers.  There  is  one  among 
them  —  a  cruel,  bloodthirsty  man,  whom  they  call  by  a  very 
wicked  name — " 

"Hell-Fire  Dick!" 

"  Ah !  you  know  him,  sir.  He  is  a  terribly  cruel  man.  I 
fear  him,  as  I  never  feared  another  man.  The  sight  of  him 
always  makes  me  tremble." 

Sinclair  watched  the  girl  while  she  spoke.  He  could  trace 
her  features  distinctly  by  the  starlight,  she  stood  so  near  to 
him.  He  saw  that  she  was  very  pale  and  wan  —  haggard,  in 
fact  —  but  this  might  be  the  effect  of  the  starlight;  or  it  might 
bo  that  her  soul  had  been  more  keenly  affected  by  the  terrible 
r  ctacle  of  that  bloody  field,  thnn  the  tones  of  her  voice  be 


540  EUTAW. 

trayed.  Tie  observed  the  extreme  slightness  of  her  frame, 
which,  in  her  half-boy  garments,  appeared  to  be  very  much 
attenuated  ;  and  he  said  to  her  : — 

"  My  good  girl,  though  very  anxious  to  set  out  upon  the 
journey  for  the  recovery  of  my  friends  in  the  hands  of  this 
lory,  Inglehardt,  yet  I  fear  that  you  would  suffer  unless  you 
had  rest  to-night.  It  will  require  several  hours  of  hard-riding 
to  bring  us  to  the  place." 

"  Oh,  sir !  I  am  strong.  I  don't  feel  weariness.  I  am  used 
to  travelling  by  night.  It  is  the  safest  time  in  our  country, 
now.  Then  the  outlaws  lie  close.  Bad  men  are  more  apt  to 
travel  by  day  than  by  night.  They  seem  to  fear  God  rather 
tli an  man.  They  fear  the  lonely  woods,  and  the  stars,  and  the 
winds,  and  other  things  that  speak  by  night.  It  is  safer,  sir, 
and  I  do  not  fear ;  and  I  have  not  been  travelling  all  day,  sir  — 
and  I  am  not  fatigued.  I  have  been  waiting  and  watching  in 
the  thickets  all  day,  for  I  saw  Sherrod  Nelson  when  he  first 
went  into  the  field,  and  I  watched  to  see  that  he  came  out  of  it ; 
and  since  then  —  since  the  darkness,  I  have  been  looking  about 
the  field  ;  and  that  is  the  only  toil  I  have  suffered  to-day.  And 
now  that  you  tell  me  he  is  safe,  I  do  not  feel  weak  or  unhappy. 
I  feel  light  and  strong,  and  would  rather  ride  to-night  about  the 
woods  than  sleep.  Indeed,  I  could  not  sleep  to-night.  My 
mind  is  too  lively  for  sleeping." 

And  she  said  this  in  the  saddest  tones,  with  a  voice  nowhere 
raised,  and  with  a  wan  melancholy  visage,  and  such  sorrowful, 
dewy,  but  dilating  eyes. 

"Well,  my  good  girl,  be  it  as  you  say.  No  one  can  be  more 
anxious  to  take  the  road,  in  the  recovery  of  my  friends,  than 
myself.  But  you  speak  only  of  the  father  and  son  —  of  Cap 
tain  Travis,  and  the  boy,  Henry  Travis,  as  captives  of  this  tory. 
Did  you  hear  nothing  —  see  nothing  —  of  another  captive  —  a 
lady  —  Bertha,  daughter  of  this  same  Captain  Travis?  She  is 
also  gone  —  no  doubt  a  prisoner  in  the  same  swamp  with  her 
father,  and  in  the  power,  also,  of  Inglehardt !" 

But  of  Bertha  Travis,  Nelly  Floyd  could  say  nothing.  She 
had,  in  fact,  not  been  within  the  precincts  of  Muddicoat  Castle, 
from  the  moment  when  her  luckless  brother  had  left  them  Kst 


,     NELLY   FLOYD   GUIDES  SINCLAIR.  ">41 

a^d  the  abduction  of  Bertha  had  taken  place  after  that  last 
departure. 

Sinclair,  finding  the  girl  willing1,  and  even  eager,  lost  no  time 
in  preliminaries.  He  was  making  his  way  back  from  the  field 
toward  the  encampment  of  the  partisans,  when  Nelly  proposed 
to  leave  him,  in  order  to  get  her  pony  which  she  had  hidden 
away  in  a  dense  thicket  on  the  right.  For  a  moment,  Sinclair 
became  dubious  of  her  honesty,  ard  hesitated  to  reply ;  but  she 
seemed  to  conjecture  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  and  said : — 

"  You  must  not  doubt  me.  Why  will  men  prefer  to  suspect 
sooner  than  believe.  And  yet  faith  seems  so  easy,  and  is  so 
sweet —  to  woman!" 

The  last  two  words  were  said  after  a  small  pause.  Sinclair 
felt  rebuked.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  :  "  Go,  niy  girl, 
your  school  is  the  wisest  one.  I  believe  you.  I  will  wait  for 
you,  at  th<i  camp." 

"  You  will  not  need  to  wait  long.     Aggy  is  a  fast  goer." 

And  she  disappeared  in  the  next  moment  among  the  trees. 
Sinclair  moved  as  rapidly  to  his  quarters,  and  routed  up  St. 
Julien  and  his  squad.  Everything  was  related  in  few  words, 
and,  before  the  troop  was  quite  ready  for  departure,  Nelly 
Floyd,  perched  on  Aggy,  was  waiting  in  the  foreground. 

No  unnecessary  delay  was  suffered,  and  very  soon  the  party 
was  moving  off,  and  upward,  under  the  guidance  of  the  wild  girl 
of  Edisto.  We  need  not  accompany  their  progress.  Enough 
that  they  rode  as  fast  as  they  Avell  might,  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  for  most  of  the  time  in  woodland  paths  known  only 
to  deer  and  hunter.  Our  scout,  Ballou,  who  was  one  of  the 
party,  would  have  kept  on  the  right  hand,  or  the  left,  of  the 
girl ;  but  she  avoided  him,  and  suffered  him  to  see  that  he  had 
displeased  her.  He  little  dreamed  how  much.  He  little  con 
jectured  that,  in  her  secret  soul,  she  ascribed  her  failure  to  save 
her  brother  fiom  the  gallows,  to  his  violent  arrest  of  her,  and 
her  subsequent  detention,  in  the^camp  of  the  partisans.  Once 
when  Ballou,  as  well  acquainted  with  the  precincts  as  herself, 
though  ignorant  of  the  recesses  of  Muddicoat  Castle,  was  for 
going  ahead,  she  stopped  short  and  said  to  him  :  "  If  you  will 
lead,  you  do  not  need  my  services;" — upon  which  Sinclair  or 
dered  the  scout  to  *all  behind.  Arul  thus,  for  two  hours  01 


542  EUTAW. 

more,  the  party  rode  sometimes  at  a  canter,  but  most  commonly 
at  a  smart  trot.  A  considerable  distance  was  overcome,  when 
Nelly  came  to  a  halt.  In  a  moment,  Sinclair  was  beside  her. 

"  We  must  turn  aside  here,     To  the  left." 

Ballon  interposed. 

"  Why,  girl,"  said  ve,  "  ve'w^  three  miles  off  from  the  place, 
at  the  least  —  three  miles  off. 

"  Cfhoose  between  us  !"  said  the  girl  to  Sinclair.     "  If  he  wil.» 
guide  you,  well.     You  need  not  me." 

"  Back,  Ballou  !"  said  Sinclair  sternly.     "  Do  not  interfere." 

The  girl  proceeded  : — 

"  Three  miles  off  is  the  encampment  where  the  tory  keeps  his 
troop.  But  they  do  not  enter  the  swamp  at  all ;  have  never 
done  so,  since  I  have  been  watching  them.  The  path  upon 
which  I  propose  to  take  you  is  remote  from  the  camp.  It  IR 
the  safest  path  to  pursue,  and  will  bring  us  to  the  best  place 
for  entering  the  swamp.  There  are  two  routes  for  this.  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  carry  your  whole  troop  in  this  direction.  Half 
a  dozen  men,  your  best  men,  will  probably  answer,  to  penetrate 
in  this  quarter.  I  do  not  think  that  the  tory  has  ever  more 
than  three  or  four  men  in  the  swamp.  He  keeps  it  secret  from 
his  people.  But,  while  half  a  dozen  men  take  this  route,  and 
penetrate  the  swamp,  the  rest  of  the  force  can  compass  the  tory 
camp.  If  you  would  fight  them,  and  capture  them,  he  can  lead 
your  men"  —  and  she  pointed  to  Ballou.  "  He  knows  the  way 
as  well  as  I  do.  But  I  would  not  see  the  fighting.  It  is  per 
haps  best  that  you  should  throw  your  main  force  between  the 
camp  and  the  swamp  ;  whether  you  attack  them  or  not,  it  is  im 
portant,  perhaps,  that  you  should  have  your  own  people  between 
the  greater  force  of  the  tories  and  the  place  you  seek  So  shall 
you  be  able  to  penetrate  without  interruption,  and  be  secure 
that  no  enemy  comes  behind  you.  If  that  bad  man,  whom  they 
call  « Hell-fire  Dick,'  be  in  the  camp,  it  is  well  to  have  a  forcti 
ready  to  meet  him;  for  he  knows  both  the  routes  leading  to  the 
5wamp,  and  the  noise  of  strife,  the  sound  of  a  bugle  in  alarm,  or 
a  shot,  in  that  quarter,  can  reach  the  ears  of  those  who  keep  the 
camp.  The  distance  from  the  hammocks  of  the  swamp,  and  the 
camp,  is  something  under  a  milo ;  though,  by  the  route  we  take, 
,'.  :,. /•  «„  -,,-o  inn,Vl  I  tell  YOU  whnt  T  think  to  be  thf  l«-sf 


NEL1  y    FLOYD   GUIDES   SINCLAIR.  54h 

plan.  It  is  for  you  to  say  whether  you  will  carry  your  whole 
troop  into  the  swamp,  where  such  numbers  might  make  an 
alarm,  or  will  only  select  a  few  who  are  quiet  enough,  if  the 
tci  y-captain  continues  the  practice  which  he  pursued  before,  of 
encamping  his  squad  on  the  outside." 

Sinclair  hardly  hesitated  to  consult  with  St.  Julien.  It  was 
arranged  that  the  latter  should  conduct  the  main  body  of  the 
troop,  under  the  guidance  of  Ballou,  so  as  to  occupy  a  position 
between  the  camp  and  the  swamp.  No  movement  was  to  be 
made  by  St.  Julien  against  the  tories  until  the  bugles  of  Sinclair 
from  the  swamp  should  apprize  him  of  the  success  of  the  small 
party  under  the  latter ;  unless,  indeed,  the  conflict  was  forced 
upoi!.  him  by  a  premature  discovery  of  his  presence  or  approach 
by  tlu.',  scouts  of  the  tory  squadron. 

Ballou  avowed  his  ability  to  conduct  St.  Julien  to  the  re 
quired  position ;  but  the  old  scout  hankered  to  see  the  mode  of 
entrance  into  the  swamp,  and,  still  jealous  of  the  girl,  would 
have  offered  objections  to  the  arrangement.  Nelly,  who  seemed 
to  entertain  quite  as  much  dislike  for  the  professional  scout  as 
he  for  the  amateur,  had  her  answer  ready  : — 

"  If  he  will  undertake  your  guidance,  you  need  riot  me." 

And  it  was  surprising  with  what  masculine  resolve  and  will 
that  slight  girl  declared  her  decision.  Sinclair  did  not  hesitate 
a  moment.  "  Go,"  said  he  to  Ballou.  "  Do  as  I  tell  you." 

St.  Julien,  cool  as  an  iceberg,  and  as  steady,  with  a  single 
word  sent  the  scout  forward,  and  the  parties  separated.  At 
parting,  Nelly  Floyd  said  : — 

"  We  must  have  an  hour  and  a  half,  at  least,  sir.  We  must 
move  slowly  and  cautiously  here,  and  we  shall,  in  less  than  a 
mile,  have  to  leave  our  horses,  and  pursue  the  rest  of  the  way 
on  foot."  ' 

All  was  rendered  clear,  of  the  plan,  to  both  parties,  before 
the  division  of  the  troop  was  i|pide.  This  done,  both  went  for 
ward  as  silently  as  possible  on  their  separate  courses.  Ballou, 
somewhat  sullen,  yet  did  his  duty.  Nelly  pushed  on  ahead  of 
the  little  squad  of  six  sure  troopers,  led  by  Sinclair  in  person, 
all  well  armed  with  sword  and  pistol.  When  they  had  gone  a 
mile  or  more,  Nelly  stopped.  They  began  to  feel  the  swamp. 
The  woods  had  grown  thicker ;  the  water-courses  anr!  ponds 


544  EUTAW. 

more  niiincrous ;   the  obstructions  such,  in  fact,  that  the  horses 
were  worse  than  useless. 

"  Fasten  your  horses  in  that  thicket,"  said  Nelly.  "  If  they 
whinney,  they  are  too  far  from  the  swamp-refuge  of  the  tories 
to  be  heard.  They  are  of  no  more  use  in  our  farther  progress 
See  to  your  pistols.  If  that  bad  man  Dick  be  here,  he  will  bo 
watchful,  and  he  loves  fighting  and  murder.  I  fear  him.  I  fear 
Inm  very  much.  He  is  the  only  man  I  fear." 

Sinclair  commanded  an  examination  of  all  the  pistols  of  hir 
party.  Flints  were  picked  —  the  pans  supplied  with  fresh  pri 
ming.  Tin's  done,  they  set  forward. 

It  was  fully  an  hour,  working  through  the  tangled  wilderness 
in  which  they  went,  before  Nelly  brought  them  to  the  margin 
of  the  deeper  swamp  —  the  barrier  of  bush,  and  bog,  and  brier 
which  formed  the  outer  wall  of  Muddicoat  Castle.  She  found 
an  avenue  through  this,  arid  the  whole  party  emerged  from  its 
massed  intricacies  only  to  find  themselves  on  the  edge  of  a 
pretty  wide  and  tolerably  deep  creek.  In  what  direction  then 
to  proceed  —  how  to  cross  the  creek,  unless  by  wading,  waist- 
deep —  was  the  question  that  had  puzzled  Ballon.  Where  then 
to  go  ?  There  were  bits  of  highland,  covered  with  pine,  that 
could  be  seen,  here  and  there,  in  the  distance.  There  were 
small  hammocks  matted  over  with  s#w;-palmettoes  and  scragged 
bushes  wild,  thorny  thickets,  and  scattered  clumps  of  shrub, 
and  slender  shafts  of  cypress  and  other  trees,  mostly  stunted, 
growing  between  and  among  the  palmettoes ;  but  the  eye  set 
tled  nowhere  upon  any  definite  route  which  might  by  possibility 
conduct  to  an  occupied  region  —  humanly  occupied  —  of  this 
domain.  Immediately  in  front  was  an  islet  —  we  should  say, 
hammock  —  a  strip  of  mud  and  sand,  covered  with  a  luxuriant 
undergrowth  that  was  green  in  winter,  and  black  in-  its  excess 
of  foliage  during  the  summer  period.  But  the  creek  swept  be 
tween,  and  it  could  only  be  reached,  apparently,  by  wyding; 
and,  when  reached,  it  promised  to  conduct  no  farther,  for  the 
watery  empire  seemed  to  spread  away  interminably  beyond  it. 
Nelly  appeared  to  understand  Sinclair's  bewilderment  as  he 
surveyed,  and  said  quietly  : — 

'Your  scout  got  as  far  as  this,  but  could  see  his  way  no  far 
ther. 


NELLY    FLOYD   GUIDES   SINCLAIR.  545 

"-I  don't  wonder  at  that,  my  good  girl.  I  am  no  more  anV 
to  see  my  way  than  Ballon." 

"  It  puzzled  me  for  a  while,  too,  but  I  know  that  the  simple* 
is  always  the  greatest  mystery,  when  we  are  looking  out  for  a 
mystery ;  and  this  place,  and  the  way  for  getting  into  it,  is  sim 
ple  enough  when  you  have  once  been  shown." 

"  True,"  said  Sinclair.  "  Golumbus's  egg  upon  the  table 
could  be  planted  by  anybody,  the  moment  that  it  was  once  done 
by  Columbus." 

"Yes,  sir,  yes  —  I  remember  the  story,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 
({  And,  so,  this  is  just  as  easy.  Now,  sir,  you  see  yonder  ham 
mock.  There  is  a  cypress-log  resting  upon  another,  stretching 
out  into  the  creek.  In  the  daylight,  you  would  see  that  that 
cypress-leg  has  worked  all  the  bark  off  of  the  one  upon  which 
it  rests,  and  even  worked  a  little  hollow  into  the  body  of  the 
log  itself.  That  first  led  me  to  think  that  it  might  be  made  use 
)f  in  crossing  this  place.  So,  I  looked  closely,  and  discovered 
hat  the  other  end  of  the  cypress  comes  nearly  across  the  creek, 
'jough  it  mostly  lies  buried  in  the  water.  In  daylight,  you 
..Light  see  it  nearly  all  the  way  across.  But  it  would  take  a 
£;veat  spring  to  get  upon  the  log,  where  it  is  out  of  the  water, 
frcm  the  bank  where  we  stand  •  and,  even  if  you  did  get  upon 
it,  i\  would  turn  over  with  you.  Your  scout  tried  it,  and  he  fell 
in,  ever  head  and  ears,  and  so  he  gave  it  up.  Now,  in  the  day- 
ligbt>  you  might  discover  on  this  very  bank  where  we  stand 
just  above  you,  where  the  end  of  a  log  had  been  rubbing  in  the 
mud.  That  I  found,  and  I  could  see  no  other  log  about  which 
could  make  the  mark  but  this.  This  led  me  to  look  farther 
and,  thinking  more  earnestly  about  it,  I  soon  found  a  long 
grapevine,  hanging  over  the  trees — here  it  is,  sir,  you  see  —  and 
trailing  down,  there,  into  the  creek  itself;  and  I  followed  it  till 
I  found  that  it  ran  under  and  twisted  round  one  end  of  the  cy 
press  that  worked  loosely  below  the  water.  Well,  I  tried  it 
with  all  my  strength,  and  found  that,  by  pulling  on  the  gfapc- 
vine>  I  could  bring  up  the  end  of  the  cypress  —  which  is  nicely 
balanced  on  tlie  log  over  there  —  and  make  it  rest  on  the  bank, 
in  the  very  place  where  you  see  the  mark  which  it  mad-'? 
When  I  did  f.Hat,  I  had  a  bridge  over  the  creek  ;  and  when  ] 
got  on  the  other  side  bv  i  -:-,innsr  on  the  opposite  end  of  tho 


546  EUTAW. 

cypress,  as  it  rests  upon  the  log  like  a  pivot,  T  could  work  tlii^ 
end  back  into  the  creek,  carrying  the  grapevine  with  it.  You 
see  how  easy  it  is  to  make  the  bridge,  and  unmake  it  —  the 
balance  being  so  well  adjusted." 

Certainly,  it  was  very  easy,  very  simple;  yet,  nevertheless, 
no  ordinary  difficulty  to  ordinary  men.  And  this  girl  had  dis 
covered  the  process  which  had  baffled  such  a  scout  as  Ballon. 
Sinclair  began  to  regard  her  with  that  instinctive  deference 
which  we  show  to  genius;  which  is,  in  brief,  neither  more  nor 
less  than  the  spirit  of  Discovery,  winged  by  Imagination.  The 
grapevine  was  worked  upon,  the  cypress  swung  up  to  the  bank, 
as  a  sawyer  works  to  and  fro  in  the  western  waters,  and  the 
party  crossed  over. 

';  The  rest  is  easier,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  conducted  Sinclair 
to  the  other  side  of  the  island  which  they  had  reached,  where 
other  avenues  of  approach  fo  Muddicoat  Castle  opened,  gradually 
and  almost  without  search  to  the  seeker.  Still  the  guidance  of 
the  girl  was  necessary  ;  but  having  shown  her  first  processes, 
we  must  leave  the  rest  to  the  conjectures  of  the  reader.  We 
need  not  detail  the  several  steps  of  progress ;  how  they  passed 
bog  and  creek ;  stagnant  and  running  waters  ;  through  cane 
brake  and  "  palmetto  flats  ;"  and  the  thousand  varieties  of  em 
barrassment,  which  are  characteristics  of  such  a  region.  At 
length,  Nelly  laid  her  hand  on  Sinclair's  wrist. 

"  We  must  now  be  more  careful  than  ever.  When  we  cross 
that  log  we  get  upon  the  island  where  the  tory-captain  harbors. 
Hidden  in  that  thicket  is  one  of  their  houses.  They  have  sev 
eral.  But,  in  that  one,  there  are  two  or  three  men,  that  sleep. 
They  could  see  us  through  the  bushes  if  we  were  to  cross  in 
daylight.  That  bad  man,  Dick,  he  lies  all  about ;  but  he  fre 
quently  lies,  and  sleeps,  under  that  great  tree  which  you  see 
rising  over  all  the  thicket.  It  is  a  sycamore.  There,  he  can 
see  if  anybody  crosses  to  the  island  ;  and  when  we  are  crossing, 
we  a"re  within  pistol-shot.  We  must  now  work  cautiously — - 
aot  a  whisper,  not  a  word ;  and,  above  all,  we  must  not  stum 
ble.  A  plash  in  the  water,  from  a  heavy  body,  might  bring  us 
a  bullet. 

"  If  that  be  the  case,  my  good  girl,"  said  Sinclair,  taking  her 
by  the  arm,  "you  might  lut  me  go  first.  It  is  now  my  turn  to 


NELLY   FLOYD    GUIDES   SINCLAIR.  £4? 

take  the  lead.  I  see  the  log;  I  see  the  way  before  me.  You 
have  told  me  all  that  I  need  to  know.  Do  you,  now,  remain 
behind.  You  must  incur  no  danger." 

The  girl  hesitated.  Sinclair,  grasping  her  arm,  could  per 
ceive  that  she  trembled  —  shuddered,  perhaps,  would  be  the 
more  appropriate  word.  But  she  said,  though  in  faltering  ac 
cents —  she  had  not  seemed  to  fear  or  falter  before:  — 

"  You  will  need  me  after  you  get  across,  for  the  houses  are 
scattered,  and  sometimes  concealed  by  bits  of  wood,  which  are 
very  thick ;  and  you  ought  to  know  the  right  way  at  once,  or 
you  may  stumble  upon  an  ambush." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  can  follow  me  ;  but  it  is  now  my  turn 
to  lead ;"  and  so  speaking,  and  putting  Nelly  behind  him,  he 
stepped  firmly,  and  noiselessly,  upon  the  fallen  tree,  which 
spanned  the  creek,  and  led  from  the  little  boggy  hammock  which 
they  had  reached  to  the  island  —  the  obscure  fastness  of  Muddi- 
coat  —  which  stretched  away  in  shadowy  woods,  though  under 
the  dim  light  of  stars,  before  their  eyes.  Noiselessly  drawing 
his  sabre,  at  the  same  moment,  Sinclair  prepared  for  any  struggle 
—  better  satisfied,  feeling  this  weapon  in  his  grasp,  of  the  cer 
tainty  of  his  aim,  than  he  could  be  of  any  pistol  practice  in  the 
vague  and  hazy  light  which  the  night  and  the  forests  permit 
ted.  He  went  forward,  thus  prepared,  Nelly  immediately  be 
hind  him,  while  his  half-a-dozen  dragoons  followed  in  Indian 
file,  as  silently  along  the  cypress.  Could  Sinclair  have  looked 
behind  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  been  surprised  to  see  the 
pallid  and  wild  aspect  of  the  girl  —  her  eyes  were  more  than 
ever  dilated  —  they  looked  up  to  heaven  —  her  lips  were  parted 
—  was  it  in  prayer  ?  —  and  her  hands  nervously  clasped  together. 
She  was  again  the  seer — the  vision  was  upon  her  ! 


6-18  EUTAW. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

SINCLAIR    PENETRATES    MUDDICOAT   CASTLE. 

THE  vision  was  upon  her — and  such  a  vision  !  But  she  was 
silent.  Oh  !  what  a  world  of  past,  present,  future,  was  crowded 
in  that  vision  —  was  locked  up  in  that  voluminous  silence  !  But 
she  went  forward  —  all  went  forward  —  in  the  same  mute  and 
rigid  purpose  —  still  as  death!  But  wlrat  were  her  anticipa 
tions,  her  fears  1  We  must  not  ask  at  present.  We  are  required 
to  shift  our  ground,  and  abandon  these,  for  other  parties  to  our 
drama.  We  must  now  return  to  Inglehardt,  and  report  his  prog 
ress  which  necessarily  anticipates  that  of  Sinclair. 

Our  tory  chieftain,  as  we  have  seen,  has  been  something  more 
than  unlucky.  He  has  been  discredited  before  his  men  ;  mor 
tified  by  defeat ;  and,  which  was  the  most  humiliating  reflection, 
been  seen  to  shrink  in  battle  from  the  uplifted  sabre  of  that 
very  enemy  and  rival  whom  he  had  avowed  it  to  be  his  first 
and  dearest  desire  to  encounter  !  Nothing  saved  him  from  the 
keen  edge  of  Sinclair's  sabre  but  his  own  rapid  recoil  from  the 
stroke,  and  the  subsequent  confusion  occasioned  by  the  falling 
of  the  tent.  In  shame  and  confusion,  and  with  the  full  convic 
tion  that  the  field  was  utterly  lost  to  the  British,  he  had  fled  in 
continently,  too  soon  —  with  hundreds  more  —  had  found  shelter 
in  the  swamp  thickets,  and  harbored  in  them  closely,  while 
he  stole  away  noiselessly  to  his  own  deeper  hiding-place.  A 
slight  wound,  which  rather  stung  than  hurt  him,  added  to  his 
mortification;  and  he  fancied  that  his  troop  had  all  beheld, 
and  felt  the  momentary  failure  of  his  heart  when  he  was  con 
fronted  by  the  weapon  of  Sinclair.  He  never  asked  himself 
if  any  of  them  knew  the  special  reasons  which  he  had  for  not 


SINCLAlIt   PENETRATES   MUDDICOAT   CASTLE.  549 

refusing  the  fight  with  Sinclair.  It  was  enough  that  Dick  of 
Tophet  knew  and  understood  them  all,  and  he  could  not  mis 
take  the  impudent  leer  in  the  eyes  of  the  latter,  when  they 
dashed  away  together  from  the  field  of  battle,  followed  by  as 
many  of  the  troop  as  had  survived  the  conflict.  They  were 
now  reduced  to  twenty-one  men,  all  told.  Dick  had  fought 
like  a  Trojan;  never  showing  fear  for  a  moment;  and  had  car 
ried  off  an  ugly  cut  upon  one  shoulder,  and  a  deep  graze  of  a 
rifle-bullet  in  the  same  arm,  as  proofs  of  his  own  exposure. 
These  hurts  were  rudely  bandaged  up  as  soon  as  they  found 
safe  shelter  in  the  woods.  They  did  not  need  much  surgery. 
Surgery,  properly  speaking,  there  was  none  at  that  time,  in  the 
irregular  or  militia  service. 

But  Dick  did  not  care  for  surgery.  He  was  a  bold,  hardy 
rascal,  and  could  grin  over  his  mischances  while  he  reviewed 
the  case  and  conduct  of  his  superior.  When  about  six  miles 
from  the  field  of  battle,  the  party  halted  for  awhile,  to  rest  some 
of  their  number,  and  attend  to  the  hurts  of  others.  Then  it 
was  that  Dick  got  his  own  wounds  dressed,  while  Inglehardt 
submitted  his  thigh,  scathed  by  a  bullet,  to  the  examination  of 
Dick  himself,  who  officiated  as  an  assistant  in  the  rough  surgery 
of  the  times.  An  hour's  rest  and  the  bugle  sounded,  and  the 
squad  resumed  its  flight.  Inglehardt  was  impatient  to  go  for 
ward. 

Dick  of  Tophet,  as  far  as  he  dared,  expostulated  against  this 
timeless  haste.  He  had  his  doubts  about  the  result  of  the  bat 
tle.  Dick  was  an  old  soldier,  not  unable  to  detect  the  radical 
blunders  made  by  the  Americans.  He,  besides,  gave  full  credit 
to  the  positions  held  by  Marjoribanks  and  Sheridan. 

But  'Inglehardt  would  admit  of  no  argument.  He  had  seen 
the  British  regulars  in  full  flight,  making  for  the  brick  house ; 
nay,  had  he  not  seen  hundreds  of  them  flinging  away  their 
weapons,-  as  impediments  to  their  flight,  and  pushing,  with 
headlong  speed,  for  Charleston  1  He  could  not  doubt  the  re 
sult  !  He  dared  not  delay.  If  caught  by  the  Americans,  he 
had  no  hope  of  escape  from  the  halter!  He  had  put  himself 
out  of  the  pale  of  mercy.  He  had  now  but  one  hope  ;  and  that 
was  to  bind  Travis  to  his  interests.  He  must  compel  Bertha 
Travis  to  submit  —  to  take  him  for  her  husband  in  season  —  to 


550  EOTAW. 

have  the  knot  inevitably  tied,  so  that  he  should  have  the  path 
opened  to  him,  for  making  terms,  through  her  father,  with  the 
Americans,  should  they  continue  to  triumph  —  which  he  now 
began  to  believe  they  certainly  would.  To  put  himself  in  safety 
—  to  secure  the  spoils  already  won  —  he  had  no  mode  but  thai 
offered  by  the  alliance  with  Travis.  He  must  force  that  meas 
ure,  and  quickly ;  that  very  night  if  possible. 

On  this  point  he  is  determined.  He  is  now  as  morose  anc 
savage  as  impatient.  He  is  prepared  to  urge  his  power  to  ex 
tremity  —  to  any  extreme  —  rather  than  forego  his  only  remain 
ing  policy,  and  to  escape  the  necessity  of  exile ;  and  he  wat 
rousing  himself  to  the  exercise  of  the  darkest  moods  of  his  na 
ture.  His  orders  were  given  in  brief,  stern,  savage  accents. 
To  his  Lieutenant  Lundiford,  he  said,  as  they  rode : — 

"  You  have  ascertained  that  the  old  Dutch  parson,  Rteinmeita 
is  still  at  Frink's?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he's  teaching  Frink's  children." 

"  When  you  get  to  camp,  despatch  one  of  your  men  to  bring 
him.  It  is  but  three  miles  off.  He  knows  for  what  I  want 
him.  I  have  seen  him  already.  Say  that  I  have  sent,  and  let 
him  come  off  at  once.  Bring  him  by  force  if  necessary !" 

Dick  of  Tophet  heard  the  order.  He  smiled  grimly,  and  mut 
tered  to  himself  apart. 

"  Force  !  It's  come  to  that,  is  it  ?  lie's  thinking,  now,  to 
force  his  happiness  !  He's  just  now  in  a  mighty  fine  sort  of 
temper  to  be  a  happy  man,  ain't  he  ?  Well,  he'll  do  for  the  gal 
jest  the  same  as  a  better  man,  prehaps;  and  rny  little  sodger- 
boy  will  get  out  of  his  captivation  !  And  that's  jest  all  that  I 
cares  about  it !" 

And  so  the  party  rode,  till,  reaching  a  certain  well-known  turn 
ing-point,  Lundiford  led  the  main  body  of  the  troop  forward  to  the 
old  camp-ground,  while  Inglehardt,  Dick  of  Tophet,  and  one 
other  person,  a  common  soldier,  took  their  way  along  one  of  the 
secret  passages  conducting  to  Muddicoat  Castle.  They  pene 
trated  this  domain  some  two  hours  before  the  arrival  of  Sinclair 
and  his  dragoons  in  the  same  region. 

Having  reached  the  refuge,  Inglehardt  at  once  proceeded  to 
the  prison  of  Captain  Travis  and  his  daughter,  while  Dick  of 
Tophet  and  the  soldier  turned  into  the  wigwam  occupied  by 


SINCLAIR    PENETRATES   MUDDICOAT    CASTLE.  M 

Brunsou.  Brunsou  was  absent  at  the  house  of  Blodgit — / 
prison-house  of  Henry  Travis.  The  soldier  went  out  to  look 
after  him.  He  did  not  return  directly,  nor  did  Brunson.  The 
latter  had  met  Inglehardt,  who  took  him  with  him  to  Travis's 
keep.  Dick  of  Tophet  remained  alone,  and  by  no  means  happy 
N"ever  the  man  to  be  happy  when  alone.  He  was  sore  of  body, 
He  had  gone  supperless,  and  was  wounded.  He  was,  besides, 
uneasy  of  mind  —  he  knew  not  well  why  —  but  the  proceedings 
of  Inglehardt ;  his  desires,  his  designs,  the  condition  of  the  hap 
less  family  in  his  hands,  and  most  of  whom  had  been  entrapped 
by  Dick  himself — all  these  things  combined  to  produce  some 
disquiet  in  the  thought  of  the  latter.  What  if  things  did  not 
turn  out  as  he  hoped  and  expected  ?  What  if  the  girl  spurned 
her  captor.  If  the  boy  perished  ?  Dick  of  Tophet  saw  that 
Inglehardt  was  in  a  terribly  savage  mood.  He  well  knew  in 
what  variety  of  ways  the  latter  had  been  mortified  ;  and  he  felt 
an  oppressive  apprehension,  that  he  could  not  shake  off,  that  the 
tory  chieftain  was  prepared  to  do  some  desperate  act  should  the 
resolution  of  Bertha  Travis  prove  superior  to  his  arts  and 
threats.  He  was  uneasy,  we  say  —  an  uneasiness,  by  the  way, 
which  would  not  have  troubled  him  greatly,  but  that  he  had  re 
cently  received,  in  some  tender  part  of  his  conscience,  a  barbed 
shaft  of  truth,  which  had  stuck,  and  worked,  and  rankled  — 
keeping  him  sore  and  thoughtful !  We  have  seen  that  the  fel 
low,  deep-dyed  as  he  was  in  crime  and  blood,  and  £very  sort 
of  sin,  had  yet  some  lingering  seeds  of  humanity  in  his  bosom, 
\vhich,  long  dormant,  had  under  curious  circumstances  —  an  old 
woman's  Christian  meekness  —  a  child's  soft  birdlike  tones  in 
reading  —  a  rude  woodcut  in  an  ancient  volume  —  a  quaint 
allegorical  history  of  sin,  itself — had  begun  to  sprout  afresh,  in 
some  spot  not  wholly  sterile  of  his  heart !  Dick  of  Tophet,  in 
the  loneliness  and  silence  which  environed  him  —  sore  of  body 
besides  —  and  he  had  no  drink  meanwhile  to  quiet  reflection  — 
had  become  thoughtful;  and  his  thoughts  made  him  uneasy. 

He  took  the  book  out  of  his  bosom  —  poor  Pilgrim,  striving 
up  the  mountain  with  that  more  than  mule  bundle  on  his  back  ! 
lie  took  out  the  book,  and  squatted  down  upon  the  clay  hearth 
i)f  the  hovel,  ami  pushed  a  fresh  brand  to  that  which  was 
already  burning,  and  as  the  resinous  pine  flared  up  brightly,  he 


£>52  EUTAW. 

prepared  to  turn  the  pages  which  he  could  not  read,  and  fancy 
the  legend  which  he  had  scarcely  begun  to  fathom. 

But  the  volume  had  hardly  caught  his  eyes,  when  he  started 
to  his  feet,  and  cried  out,  while  his  whole  frame  shivered  undei 
the  sudden  convulsive  motion  of  his  soul.  What  had  he  seen? 
What  heard  ?  What  shocking  discovery  could  he  make? 

He  dropped  upon  his  knees.  He  laid  the  book  reverently 
down  upon  the  hearth.  He  clasped  his  hands  as  if  in  prayer. 
But  he  spoke  not.  His  lips  seemed  rigidly  sealed.  He  had 
never  learned  to  pray.  He  knew  not  how  to  begin.  He  could 
only  ejaculate,  after  his  barren,  savage  fashion  : — 

"  Great  Gimini !  Oh,  the  Lord  !  It's  a  providential  marcy, 
this  !  It's  the  woman's  blessing  on  the  man  that  murdered  her 
son  !"  And  he  took  up  the  book,  and  pointed  to  it,  precisely  as  if 
showing  to  a  spectator,  the  thing  which  had  staggered  and  con 
founded  himself. 

A  bullet  —  a  musket  bullet  of  an  ounce  weight — was  buried 
in  the  book :  had  passed  through  the  centre  of  the  cover,  and 
was  still  nestled,  midway,  among  the  leaves  of  the  volume  ;  and 
that  volume  had  been  stuffed  into  his  bosom,  right  over  the 
region  of  the  heart ! 

"Gimini!  Lord!  Ef  'twa'n't  for  this  book,  whar  would  I 
be  now  1  Kaint  say  !  May  be,  mighty  oncomfortable  in  some 
hotter  country !  Who  knows !  Ef  them  preachers  say  the 
right  thing,  I'd  be  kivered,  jist  this  minute,  with  brimstone 
blisters,  from  the  top  of  the  head  to  the  bottom  of  the  feet. 
That  book  has  saved  me  from  that  blistering.  'Twas  gin  to 
me  with  the  blessings  of  that  woman,  that  old  widow !  And 
'twas  my  knife  that  did  the  butchering  of  her  only  son.  And 
he  only  a  sucking  kaif — a  sarcumstance  of  a  boy,  that  I  could 
hav'  tumbled  with  a  single  lick  of  the  back  o'  my  hand.  I  was 
rashing  drunk  that  day,  and  marciless,  and  I  butchered  him  ! 
And  hyar,  his  own  mammy,  giv'  me  a  sawt  o'  protection  from 
the  bullet!  It's  cur'ous  —  mighty  cur'ous  !  Thar's  sperrits,  I 
reckon,  in  the  world.  And  thar's  a  God  over  all !  And  ef  so, 
thar's  a  blistering  hell  o'  brimstone  somewha  !  Hain't  I  had  a 
narrow  chaince  to-day  ?  And  what  a  difference  in  the  hearts  o' 
people.  Hyar's  this  old  woman  widow,  blesses  and  pertects  me, 
and  I  butchered  her  only  son ;  and  he  a  mere  sarcumstance  of 


SINCLAIR   PENETRATES    MUDDICOAT    CASTLE.  553 

»<  boy !  And  b jar's  another  sarcumstance  of  a  boy,  that  I 
knocked  over  and  captivated — he  and  his  daddy  both  —  and 
pretty  much  starved  besides;  and  he  reads  to  me  —  and  he  ha-a 
the  whip-hand  of  me  —  and  he  has  my  own  knife  over  me  — 
and  me  a  sleeping  —  and  he  don't  stick!  It's  mighty  cur'ous! 
I  reckon  there  must  be  speirits  in  the  world !  And  thar's  a 
God  over  all,  that  watches  !  Oh,  Lawd  God  !  I  reckon  thar's 
no  chaince  for  me  gitting  out  o'  the  brimstone,  onless  I  hed  a 
thousand  years  for  it.  I've  got  a  bundle  on  my  shoulders,  a 
thousand  times  worse,  I  reckon,  than  ever  this  poor  old  leetle 
fellow  carried  up  that  mountain  !" 

He  shook  the  bullet  out  from  among  the  leaves  where  it  had 
been  closely  bedded.  He  turned  it  over  narrowly.  It  was 
flattened,  but  still  heavy. 

"  An  ounce  bullet,  I  reckon ;  pushing  with  dead  aim  at  the 
heart !  The  Lawd  bless  the  old  woman  and  her  book  !  That's 
the  good  of  laming  and  edecation." 

And  all  this  time,  Dick  of  Tophet  was  on  his  knees.  He 
had  forgotten  his  position.  Possibly,  his  novel  mood  of  humil 
ity,  and  awe,  and  growing  reverence  —  nay,  superstition  —  kept 
him  in  it.  He  was  thus  surprised  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
Brunson. 

"  What !  down  on  your  marrow-bones,  a-praying  I  Well ! 
what's  next  ?  What's  the  world  a-coming  to  ?" 

"I  praying!"  and  the  other,  ashamed  of  his  humility,  rose 
indignantly.  "  I  was  jist  a  blowing  up  the  fire." 

"  But  that's  a  bible,  ain't  it  —  or  a  prayer-book?" 

"  It's  a  book  of  sin  and  temptation,  and  I  was  jist  a  trying  to 
take  a  new  lesson  in  sinning  ;  for  my  Taming,  that  hay,  ain't  a 
huckleberry  to  your  persimmon,  Rafe !  And  what's  it  you 
wants  now  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  to  stir  you  up  to  watch,  and  not  to  pray.  The 
cappin's  busy.  He's  wolfish,  I  tell  you !  I'm  to  send  Gorton 
off  to  camp,  and  you're  to  watch  the  crossings  till  he  git? 
back." 

"  Well !  that's  easy  !     But  what's  he  about  ?" 

"  He's  with  the  gal  and  her  daddy.  They're  all  talking  at 
the  same  time ;  though  I'm  a  thinking  old  Travis  don't  alto 
gether  know  what  about.  He  doesn't  seem  tc 


554  EUTAW 

hev  any  right  idee  how  the  cat  jumps.  He  talks  wild  ani 
foolish." 

"But  what  about  the  boy?" 

•'  Oh !  he's  to  be  a  sawt  o'  grindstone,  I  reckon,  that  the 
cappin's  guine  to  sharp  his  we'pon  on." 

"Eh!— how  sharp?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  But  I'rri  jubous,  the  cappm's  guine 
to  scalp  the  boy  jist  to  make  the  daddy  and  the  gal  sensible! 
I'm  to  carry  the  chicken  now  to  the  coob." 

"Eh  !  you  air  !"  and  Dick  of  Tophet  moved  about  uneasily, 
then  approached  the  Trailer,  and  said  : — 

"Look  you,  Trailer,  don't  be  too  quick,  to  do  what  the 
cappin  says  in  his  passion.  He's  wolfish  now,  and  hain't  got 
the  right  sense  and  the  wisdom  to  know  altogether  what  he's  a 
doing ;  and  it's  fifty  to  one,  that  he  calls  you  to  do  the  thing 
now  that  he'll  be  sorry  for  to-morrow ;  and  when  it's  done,  and 
he  sees  the  worst  of  it,  he'll  be  calling  you  to  account,  and  he 
won't  believe  that  he  ever  giv'  you  the  orders,  and  all  you  say 
won't  stand  in  the  argyment  with  anybody ;  they'll  all  believe 
the  cappin  sooner  than  the  scout !  So,  you  be  sensible ;  and 
easy ;  and  don't  be  too  quick  to  do  the  thing  that  you  kaiiit 
mend  easy  when  it's  done." 

'-Look  you,  Dick,  see  to  that!"  and  the  Trailer  displayed 
five  gold  pieces.  Dick,  with  a  groan,  admitted  that  the  reason? 
for  Branson's  obedience  were  very  potent ;  but  he  renewed  hia 
counsels,  until  they  grew  into  entreaties  —  to  the  surprise  of  the 
Trailer.  At  last,  when  they  separated,  each  to  proceed  to  his 
post,  the  latter  was  a  good  deal  mystified  by  the  direct  petition 
of  Dick  :  "  Not  to  hurt  the  boy,  any  how ;  give  him  time,  and 
give  the  cappin  time ;  and  only  let  me  know,  Rafe,  what's  a 
guine  on.  You  shain't  lose  by  it,  though  the  guineas  goes  out 
of  my  own  pockets  to  make  you  whole  agin !" 

And  the  Trailer  disappeared.  And  Dick  of  Tophet  slowly 
buckled  on  his  pistols,  and  restored  the  Pilgrim  to  his  bosom, 
and  took  his  way  —  still  uneasy,  still  gravelled  by  thought  and 
conscience  —  toward  the  appointed  station;  to  watch  at  the 
very  cypress,  which  Willie  Sinclair  was  to  cross  under  tin.1 
guidance  of  Nelly  Floyd. 

Here,  not  live  steps  from  the  inner  terminus  of  the  cypress 


SINCLAIR   PENETRATES   MUDDICOAT   CASTLE. 

he  stretched  himself  out,  covered  with  a  clump  of  myrtle,  at  the 
foot  of  a  mighty  sycamore.  Gorton  disappeared  with  a  mes 
sage  to  Lundiford  in  camp,  and  Brunson,  withdrawing  Henry 
Travis  from  the  wigwam  of  Pete  Blodgit,  conducted  the  boy  to 
that  in  which  his  father  and  sister  were  confined. 

Dick  of  Tophet,  alone,  pistol  in  one  hand,  and  Pilgrim's  Prog 
ress  "in  the  other,  watched  the  cypress  across  the  creek.  He 
could  use  the  pistol,  but  not  the  book ;  but  the  latter  seemed  to 
have  acquired  a  new  interest  in  his  eyes,  apart  from  the  virtues 
in  his  theory  of  "  education."  "  It  was  now  his  talisman.  He 
owed  to  it  his  life ;  and  he  rnused  upon  the  mysteries,  so  lately 
opening  to  his  vision,  until  he  almost  forgot  that  he  carried  a 
pistol,  and  was  on  watch  across  the  creek. 

But  he  did  not  forget  Henry  Travis  in  his  musings.  To  the 
influence  of  this  boy,  our  Dick  of  Tophet  ascribed  something  — 
he  knew  not  what  —  of  the  virtues  of  hie  talisman.  He  owed 
the  boy  for  something,  of  a  moral  sort,  which  he  could  not  de 
fine,  apart  from  the  debt  of  life  which  he  owed  to  his  forbear 
ance,  in  his  sleeping  hour,  and  when  the  wronged  boy  stood  over 
him  with  knife  above  his  breast. 

He  was  troubled  about  the  boy.  He  was  disposed  to  do 
something  for  him.  The  ties  which  bound  him  to  Inglehardt 
had  been  growing  feebler,  from  the  first,  moment,  when  those 
had  begun  to  grow  which  attached  him  to  Henry  Travis ;  and 
he  was  now  just  in  that  mood,  when  a  sudden  collision  of  any 
sort  with  his  superior  —  any  situation  stimulating  his  present 
rnood  to  action  —  would  probably  have  found  him,  lifting  weapon 
openly  in  the  boy's  defence  and  in  defiance  of  his  captain  i 
Were  he,  for  example,  in  attendance  upon  Inglehardt  at  the 
present  moment,  instead  of  Brunson,  and  were  Inglehardt  to 
attempt,  or  require  from  him,  any  demonstration  against  the 
buy's  health  or  safety,  Dick  would  have  ranged  himself  beside 
the  threatened  captive,  and  done  battle  to  the  uttermost  in  hi« 
behalf. 

Now,  habit  interposed  —  in  the  absence  of  overt  provoca 
tion —  to  keep  Dick  of  Tophet  at  his  post ;  though  he  could  still 
fancy  the  boy's  danger,  and  feel  a  growing  uneasiness  in  conse 
quence.  He  knew  the  desperate  case  of  Inglehardt ;  he  knew 
the  hard,  cold,  brutal,  servility  of  Brunson  ;  and,  but  that  ho  La 


556  EUTAW 

lieved  that  the  former  would  aim  at  nothing  more  than  to  frighten 
Travis  and  his  daughter  into  compliance  with  his  wishes,  b/ 
seeming  to  threaten  the  boy's  life,  he  w^uld,  most  likely,  have 
left  his  post  and  pushed  directly  for  the  scene  where  the  drama 
was  in  progress.  But  habit  prevailed  with  the  old,  drill  ser 
geant,  and  he  crouched  under  his  tree,  behind  his  bushes  of 
myrtle,  and  brooded  over  the  mysteries  of  Providence  which 
converted  his  book  of  the  Pilgrim  into  a  shield  for  his  safety  in 
the  day  of  battle. 

Ah  !  how  much  more  grateful  to  us  now,  could  we  report  him 
wandering  away  from  his  post ;  forgetting  the  mere  military  ser 
vice,  and,  in  his  new  interest  in  humanity,  taking  his  way  to 
the  succor  of  the  boy,  resolved  on  saving  him,  or  sharing  in  his 
*ate  !  We  should  then  be  spared,  one  terrible  passage  in  which 
he  is  —  a  blind  creature  of  the  Fates  —  to  work  once  more  in 
the  business  of  the  Furies  ! 

And,  brooding  where  he  lay,  Dick  of  Tophet  forgot  to  watch. 
Watching,  he  ceased  to  be  a  sentinel.  He  dreamed.  His  thought 
was  far  away  j  foreign  to  his  habit  as  his  duties  ;  when,  suddenly, 
he  was  roused  to  consciousness,  by  the  sound  of  a  falling  body. 

Sinclair,  not  seeing,  in  the  dim,  misty  light,  the  butt  end  of 
the  cypress,  which  he  crossed,  made  a  false  step,  as  he  reached 
the  termination  of  it,  and  carne  heavily  to  the  ground.  Dick  of 
Tophet  was  brought  instantly  back  to  consciousness  and  to  IMS 
duties.  He  started  up,  upon  his  knee  ;  saw  several  dark  forms 
passing  rapidly  over  the  cypress  ;  and  fired  his  pistol,  with  di 
rect  aim,  at  the  foremost.  A  shriek  from  Nelly  Floyd,  shovvvd 
that  his  bullet  had  found  a  victim  :  the  last,  probably,  that  the 
murderer  would  have  chosen  ! 

In  that  moment,  Sinclair  recovered  his  feet ;  and,  while  Dick 
of  Tophet  was  rising  to  his,  our  dragoon  rushed  upon  him, 
quick  as  lightning,  and  smote  with  all  his  might,  and  with  thai. 
terrible  broadsword  !  Dick  saw  the  glittering  steel  as  it  hung 
in  air  a  moment;  a  flash  —  a  sweeping  flash  --clear  as  the  cres 
cent  moon  —  and  there  was  no  retreat!  ha  threw  up  the  hand 
which  still  grasped  the  story  of  poor  Pilgrim  i  The  steel  smote 
sheer  through  the  wrist,  and  rushed,  deep,  doxun,  into  the  neck 
of  the  victim,  almost  severing  the.  head  from  t}  e  body.  He  sank 
without  a  groan]  A  moment  of  quivering  muscle,  and  all  was  over' 


CAPTIVTI  Y  •—   F  A  TTTE.R    ATI!)    D  A  TIGHTER.  f>f" 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

CAPTIVITY  —  FATHER    AND    DAUGHTER 

ANI»  thus,  at  length,  successfully,  did  Sinclair  penetrate  the 
secret  domain  of  Muddicoat  Castle.  But  at  what  a  price  !  Poor 
Nelly  Floyd  was  mortally  wounded  by  the  last  shot  that,  Dick 
of  Tophet  ever  fired.  She  had  feared  this  man  especially, 
Him  only  !  She  seems  to  have  had  some  prescience  of  her  dan 
ger  at  his  hands.  It  is  possible  that  this,  too,  was  among  her 
visions  —  this  scene  —  the  passage  of  the  cypress  —  the  grim, 
spectral  Death  that  watched  the  portal  — the  one  shot  from  the 
ambush  —  the  final  catastrophe,  to  herself  and  her  destroyer 
Following  Sinclair,  and  but  a  few  paces  behind  him,  when  he 
made  the  misstep  which  saved  his  life,  she  received  the  bullet. 
in  her  breast.  She  would  have  fallen  into  the  creek,  but  for 
the  ready  grasp  taken  about  her  person  by  the  dragoon  imme 
diately  behind  her. 

Sinclair  heard  her  scream,  at  the  moment  that  he  rushed  upon 
the  man  who  shot.  It  smoke  him  to  the  heart  to  hear,  for  he 
readily  conceived  the  extent  of  the  disaster.  Nelly  was  not  the 
person  to  cry  aloud  unhurt.  But  our  dragoon  could  not  stop  to 
look  behind  him  at  such  a  moment.  The  passionate  impulse, 
which  carried  him  forward,  was  quickened,  rather  than  dis 
armed,  by  that  spasmodic  shriek.  In  fact,  it  added  somewhat 
to  the  terrible  weight  of  his  sabre,  when  he  struck.  He  did 
not —  as  we  have  seen  —  strike  in  vain  !  He  soon  saw  that  the 
enemy  could  strike  and  strive  no  more  —  he  readily  identified 
him,  as  he  lay  quivering,  no  longer  conscious,  at  his  feet ;  a 
mingle  glance  sufficed  for  this  —  and  he  then  tamed  to  the 
wounded  girl,  who  had  been  sustained  and  brought  to  tin1  firm 
land  in  the  arms  of  the  soldier. 


558  BOTAW. 

She  was  conscious.  Her  eyes  opened  upon  him  sweetly,  with 
a  smile,  and  she  said  faintly  : — 

"Take  me  to  that  house.  There  is  one  just  there," — and 
she  tried  to  point.  "Leave  me  there — leave  me  anywhere -- 
but  push  on  now  —  quick  as  you  can!  You  have  no  time  tc 
lose.  That  pistol-shot  will  alarm  the  camp." 

"My  poor,  poor  girl  !"  was  the  involuntary  exclamation  of 
Sinclair,  the  tears  dropping  from  his  eyes  the  while,  as  he  took 
her  into  his  arms  and  bore  her  to  the  wigwam  of  Blodgit.  One 
of  the  soldiers  kicked  open  the  door  suddenly,  and  the  mothei 
and  her  hopeful  son  were  discovered  in  an  apprehensive  con 
ference —  alarmed  by  the  pistol-shot  —  dubious  of  what  was 
going  on  —  not  knowing  where  to  turn,  and  fearing  everything 
in  the  oppressive  consciousness  of  guilt.  Both  cowered  as  they 
beheld  Sinclair.  He  hardly  saw  them  —  did  not  recognise  them, 
as  he  cried  out : — 

"  Here,  my  good  people,  your  help.     Be  quick  —  a  bed  !" 

"  And  what's  the  help  that  a  poor  old  rheumatic  woman  kin 
give,  I  wants  to  know  !" 

Sinclair  knew  the  voice,  looked  at  mother  and  son,  and  said 
sternly  : — 

"Do  what  you  can  for  this  poor  girl  —  get  her  a  bed  —  be 
quick  about  it ;  be  attentive,  and  you  shall  be  well  rewarded. 
Do  not  stop,  and  purr  —  or  I  will  punish  you  —  both  !  I  know 
you  now  /  Be  quick  !" 

His  glance  was  enough  for  Pete  Blodgit.  The  bed  was  found 
in  a  moment  —  the  wounded  girl  laid  upon  it  gently.  Poor 
Nelly,  suppressed  every  moan.  She  hardly  seemed  to  suffer — 
did  not  certainly  think  of  herself. 

"Now  go,"  she  said  to  Sinclair,  "I  shall  soon  be  better!" 
She  said  this  with  a  smile. 

"  Is  there  any  surgeon  here  I"  Sinclair  asked  of  Pete,  "  any 
doctor  r 

"  Well,  major,  I  reckon — " 

44  Reckon  not  with  me,  fellow.     Say,  yes  or  no  !" 

There  was  no  trifling  in  the  mood  and  eye  of  the  dragoon. 

"  No,  major  !     I  don't  know  of  none." 

"Do  not  mind  me,  Colonel  Sinclair,  unless  you  would  lope 
everything!  No  surgeon  can  do  me  good.  I  feel  that!  Go! 


CAPTIVITY  —  FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER.  559 

See  <T>  the  others.  Oh  !  believe,  me,  you  will  have  no  time  to 
lose.  You  will  all  be  butchered — your  friends,  perhaps  !  Go ! 
go!" 

And  the  calm,  patient  smile,  seen  in  the  light  of  the  chimney 
torchwood,  wa&  as  encouraging  as  it  was  earnest.  Sinclair  felt 
that  she  had  counselled  wisely.  He  could  do  nothing  for  her, 
at  the  moment,  He  pressed  her  hand,  with  a  gripe  of  genuine 
anguish.  Then  he  went  out  to  hie  dragoons,  who  waited  at 
the  entrance, 

"  Chiffalle,"  he  said  to  one  of  them,  "  find  your  way  back. 
You  can  mount  your  horse,  and  push  for  our  camp.  See  if  you 
can  get  a  surgeon  to  come  hither,  at  wing-speed.  Go  to  the 
widow  Avinger's,  and  get  my  father's  carriage,  or  that  of  Mrs. 
Travis.  Put  a  feather-bed  in  it,  and  bring  it  on  as  close  to  our 
halting-place  as  you  can ;  and  as  rapidly  as  you  can.  Away 
now  —  do  not  lose  a  moment'* 

The  dragoon  disappeared.  Sinclair  had  done  all  that  might 
be  done.  He  had  helped  to  stanch  Nelly's  wound,  which  was 
on  the  side.  There  was  little  external  flow  of  blood,  but  this 
made  it  more  serious.  The  lungs  were  probably  hurt.  The 
girl  breathed  with  effort  —  spoke  gaspingly. 

Unable  to  help  her,  Sinclair  prepared  to  withdraw  from  a 
spectacle  which  wrung  his  heart.  Besides,  as  she  had  properly 
counselled,  he  was  needed  elsewhere  —  he  knew  not  what  neces 
sities  to  encounter !  He  left  the  girl  in  charge  of  the  old  wo 
man,  who  had,  as  we  have  seen,  a  vicious  knowledge  of  the 
sinful ;  she  might,  by  possibility,  know  something  of  the  good. 
We,  too,  must  leave  the  scene,  in  which  we  can  make  no  repor< 
of  progress  —  nothing  grateful  or  favorable,  at  least.  We  must 
anticipate  the  approach  of  Sinclair  to  other  quarters,  and  nar 
rate  the  previous  proceedings  of  the  tory  chieftain,  in  his  de 
signs  upon  the  peace  and  happiness  of  our  favorites. 

We  have  seen  in  what  mood  Inglehardt  left  the  field  of  battle 
We  know  the  desperation  of  his  fortunes.  We  have  every 
reason  to  apprehend  a  corresponding  desperation  in  his  per 
formances.  Nor  shall  we  be  disappointed.  There  is  a  ferocity 
of  soul,  the  natural  results  from  the  defeat  of  long-entertained 
desires,  which,  where  the  heart  is  callous,  and  there  are  nr 
human  sympathies  to  relieve  the  intense  pressure  of  one  selfifll1 


560  EUTAW. 

passion,  will  work,  finally,  into  a  sort  of  madness.  If  mere 
recklessness  of  mood — a  desperate  resolve  to  attain  the  objects 
of  a  despotic  will  —  and  an  utter  freedom  from  all  the  ties  of 
society,  and  all  the  restraints  of  conscience,  can  madden  a  man 
to  the  execution  of  the  wildest  and  most  brutal  of  actions,  then 
Inglehardt  is  about  to  commit  the  worst !  There  is,  it  is  true, 
a  lingering  social  policy  to  restrain  him  for  awhile ;  and  if  he 
can  be  suffered  the  indulgence  of  this  policy,  he  will  prove  mild 
and  forbearing  enough.  Otherwise  nothing  can  restrain  him 
but  the  prompt  application  of  a  power  superior  to  his  own.  He 
anticipates  the  presence,  or  approach,  of  no  such  power  now  ; 
and  his  despotic  nature  exults  in  the  belief,  that  he  will  at 
length  compel  the  submission  of  his  victims  —  will  now  gloat 
over  the  triumph  of  his  long-baffled  passions,  and  he  is  pre 
pared  to  secure  this  triumph  by  any  agency,  whether  of  Hell  or 
Heaven  ! 

He  has  called  .Brunson  to  private  counsel.  He  has  shown 
him  what  to  do.  The  Trailer  is  a  willing  tool  and  creature. 
He  will  scruple  at  no  baseness  —  falter  at  no  cruelty  —  when  he 
can  be  made  secure  from  danger,  and  sure  of  reward.  He  has 
shown  a  handful  of  guineas  to  Dick  of  Tophet  —  as  the  suffi 
cient  reasons  for  his  obedience  to  the  will  of  Inglehardt,  no 
matter  what  shall  be  his  commands :  and  Dick  of  Tophet, 
knowing  the  Trailer  well,  is  satisfied  that  no  argument  of  his, 
which  does  not  take  the  same  shape  and  color,  can,  in  any 
degree,  avail  to  persuade  Brunson  to  pause  or  forbear  in  carry 
ing  out  the  evil  purposes  of  his  superior.  Dick,  monster  as  he 
is,  feels  that  there  are  arguments,  which  even  he  would  acknowl 
edge,  which  can  in  no  way  aflect  the  Trailer. 

Arid  the  latter  sped  as  promptly  and  cheerfully  to  do  the 
cruel  work  of  Inglehardt,  as  he  would  have  sped  in  the  per 
formance  of  any  angelic  mission  to  humanity.  Let  us  observe 
his  movements  and  those  of  his  superior. 

Lights  are  kindled  in  the  prison  of  Captain  Travis.  Torches 
of  pine  blaze  upon  the  hearth ;  but  there  are  tallow  candles, 
also,  lighted,  and  placed  upon  the  little  pine-table,  the  only  one 
in  the  cabin.  This  was  an  unwonted  luxury  of  light  in  that 
region.  An  old  chair,  a  rude  bench  —  these,  With  the  table, 
constitute  the  only  furniture  of  the  apartment.  A  fresh 


OAPTIVITY — FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER.  5(>1 

sprinkling  of  pine  straw  over  the  floor  takes  place;  and  the 
Trailer  retires  locking  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 

Travis  sees,  but  does  not  show  surprise  at  these  proceedings. 
In  truth,  the  period  has  gone  by  when  he  should  show  surprise 
at  anything.  His  prisoner-life,  limited  or  bad  food,  terrible 
anxieties,  have  worked  a  more  terrible  change  in  him.  His 
whole  moral  constitution  is  overthrown.  The  mental  change  is 
even  as  great  as  the  physical.  His  hair,  which  had  been  thinly 
mottled  ivith  gray  before,  is  now  uniformly  white  as  snow,  His 
beard,  white  also,  spreads  down  over  his  breast  like  that  of  a 
Jewish  patriarch  or  prophet.  Hair  and  beard  are  matted  :  the 
one  stands  up  almost  erect,  though  massed,  in  great  bristles 
above  the  eyes  and  temples ;  the  other  grows  thick  in  pointed 
sections,  and  spreads  out  over  cheek,  and  chin,  and  mouth,  in 
separate  peaks,  as  we  sometimes  behold  it  in  the  grotesque 
»  ood-carvings  of  a  Gothic  frieze.  He  is  emaciated,  but  hardly 
so  much  so  as  we  might  expect.  And  there  is  a  color  in  his 
cheeks,  the  consequence  of  a  more  exciting  tendency  of  the 
blood  bra  in  ward  than  would  be  altogether  safe  in  the  case  of  a 
very  plethoric  person.  In  the  person  of  a  sanguine-plethoric 
temperament,  such  a  tendency  would  conduct  to  apoplexy ;  in 
the  bilious  nature,  or  nervo-bilious —  that  of  Travis  —  it  is  only 

insanity ! 

Wild,  half-savage,  grotesque  —  in  consequence  of  the  strange 
mingling  of  vivacity  in  his  eye  and  of  haggard  and  squalid 
wretchedness  of  hair  and  visage  —  Travis  sits  upon  a  rude 
bench,  directly  beneath  the  little  aperture  which  has  been  cut 
through  the  log-partition ;  and  through  this  aperture,  only  large 
enough  to  admit  a  hand  —  scarcely  a  head — he  communes  with 
his  daughter.  There,  in  that  one  seat,  he  keeps  almost  all  the 
time,  except  when,  in  the  exhaustion  of  nature,  he  lapses  away 
upon  the  rushes,  and  delivers  himself  up  to  sleep.  There  he 
sits,  his  wrists  still  manacled,  and  Bertha's  hands,  passed  through 
the  opening,  play  with  his  hair  and  beard  —  smooth  them  out — 
and  occasionally  she  takes  the  comb  from  her  own  hair,  and 
labors,  after  an  awkward  fashion,  to  work  the  twines  and  tan 
gles  out  of  his ! 

And  there  and  thus  he  sits  the  while,  the  livelong  day,  prat 
tling  incessantly  of  borne,  and  happy  and  childish  things,  with- 


562  EUTAW. 

out  saying  one  word  of  his  present  situation,  or  seeming  to  be 
conscious  of  its  cares. 

And  she  answers  all  his  prattle,  just  as  he  seems  to  desire*; 
and  sometimes  she  sings  to  him,  but  only  when  he  calls  for  it ; 
and  she  tries  to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  cheerfulness,  in  what 
she  says  or  does,  in  spite  of  a  constant,  terrible  sinking  of  the 
heart.  To  school  her  own  griefs  to  silence  and  submission, 
while  she  beholds  his  crushed  and  humiliating  aspect,  needs  a 
powerful  effort ;  and  no  more  mournful  picture  of  despair  could 
be  painted  than  that  which  she  exhibits,  at  that  little  hole  in 
the  wall,  as,  hour  by  hour,  she  stands  on  one  side  of  the  parti 
tion,  he  on  the  other,  and  ministers  with  gentle  offices,  and  ten 
der  words,  and  pathetic  ballads,  to  the  wayward  frivolity  of  the 
old  man's  moods.  Terrible  indeed,  and  terribly  sudden,  has 
been  the  change  in  him.  But  two  months  ago,  a  healthy,  vig 
orous,  keen-witted,  eager,  selfish,  impatient,  grasping  worldling; 
and  now,  an  utter  imbecile  !  What  must  have  been  the  tor 
turous  process,  which,  in  that  little  space  of  time,  could  effect 
such  a  shocking  transformation  ! 

Such  is  the  picture  before  us  at  this  moment.  He  sits 
beneath  the  hole  in  the  wall,  through  which  we  see  the  mourn 
ful  and  wan  visage  of  Bertha  Travis.  One  of  her  hands,  passed 
through  the  aperture,  is  even  now  paddling  in  the  old  man's 
tangled  hair.  He  sits  placidly,  as  if  he  liked  the  situation  and 
sensation  ;  and  his  eye  glitters,  with  a  bright,  humid  light,  some 
what  glassily,  but  surely  with  a  singular  intensity.  Yet  there 
is  nothing  intense  in  his  mood.  He  laughs  at  moments  mer 
rily,  as  if  he  beheld  some  amusing  spectacle  —  laughs  out  sud 
denly,  stops  as  suddenly,  and,  a  minute  after,  you  perhaps  see 
his  eyes  fill  with  tears.  But  only  for  a  minute.  The  changes 
are  as  quick  and  uncertain  as  the  flittings  of  the  shadows  upon 
the  wall  cast  by  the  flame  from  the  hearth  ;  and,  like  these, 
they  declare  for  light  rather  than  for  life  !  It  is  a  touching 
picture,  for,  while  he  laughs,  you  see  the  iron  cuffs  about  his 
wrists,  his  hands  resting  in  his  lap  ! 

The  unusual  light  in  the  cabin  from  torches  and  candles 
amuses  the  imbecile  old  man.  He  says  : — 

"  That's  right,  Bertha.  When  the  sun  goes  out,  make  a  good 
fire  and  get  candles.  That's  wisdom.  Why  we  have  no  su~ 


CAPTIVITY  —  FA1HER   AND    DAUGHTER.  563 

tiow-a-days,  I  don't  exactly  see.  There's  some  change  g<"»ng 
on  in  the  climate  that  I  can't  account  for.  And  this  is  the 
longest  winter  I've  ever  known.  It's  high  time  it  was  over. 
We  shall  have  spring  now,  very  soon,  I'm  sure.  I  heard  the 
frogs  singing  last  night.  There's  a  whip-poor-will  that  cried 
for  two  nights  just  under  the  eaves  —  a  certain  sign  of  spring. 
But  that  don't  secure  us  against  a  frost  now  and  then.  I  have 
known  frosts  in  June  even.  We  must  provide  a  good  firo 
against  them.  When  we  have  warm  fires,  there's  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  birds  and  the  cold  weather." 

"Nothing  to  fear  from  the  birds  and  cold  weather!"  —  what 
a  confusion  of  ideas !  Bertha  repeated  the  words,  unconscious 
that  she  did  so. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  let  us  keep  clear  of  them.  And 
they  will  soon  be  gone.  There  is  quite  a  feeling  of  spring  in 
this  fire  and  these  lights.  But  oughtn't  these  to  come  off,  now 
that  we  are  getting  warm  weather?  Why  do  I  wear  them, 
"Bertha  ?  They  fetter  me  !" 

And  he  lifted  up  his  manacled  wrists.  The  fetters,  by-the- 
way,  had  been  taken  from  his  legs  some  weeks  before,  as  they 
nad  worn  into  the  flesh.  It  was  with  a  bitter  feeling  —  which, 
.trmed  with  a  dagger,  and  favored  bv  the  opportunity,  would 
have  been  fatal  to  their  petty  tyrant  —  that  she  replied  : — 

"  They  were  meant  to  fetter  y^u,  my  father.  It  is  the  policy 
of  Captain  Inglehardt  to  fetter  you." 

"  But  not  now,  when  the  spring  is  at  hand.  7.  will  speak  to 
Inglehardt  when  he  comes.  I  know  him  well.  Hark,  Bertha, 
in  your  ear  —  it  is  a  secret  —  Inglehardt  is  —  I  think — a  very 
doubtful  person." 

"  He  is  a  monster !" 

He  whispered  in  reply  : — 

"  Exactly  !  That  is  just  what  I  think.  But  I  must  not  say 
so  just  yet.  Softly  softly  !  I  must  feel  my  way  out  first.  Oh  ! 
don't  I  know  him  '••  1  imaw  his  father.  He  was  my  overseer 

—  my  grazier  —  and  I  found  him  out.     It  was  something  about 
steers  —  about  the  hands  —  young  calves,  too,  and  in  the  season 

—  of  course,  yoiiLg  calves  know  when  the  spring  comes,  just  as 
we  do,  and  they  like  it  as  well  or  better.     Well,  what  would 
the  youug  calves  be  doing  now  ?     Frisking  in  the  old  fields 


EUTATV. 

They'd  never  let  the  grass  grow.  And  I  must  go  out  into  the 
old  fields  too.  This  feeling  of  spring,  Bertha,  puts  me  all  in  a 
glow/' 

And  so  he  ran  on,  his  whispers  rising  into  the  loudest  tones. 
All  this  prattle,  poured  forth  with  the  most  satisfied  compla 
cency,  fell  drearily  upon  the  senses  of  poor  Bertha.  She  had 
no  response.  She  could  only  sigh,  and  let  fall  great,  swelling 
tears,  that  it  half-choked  her,  the  effort  to  restrain. 

At  length,  Inglehardt  made  his  appearance,  looking  the 
haughty  exultation  which  he  felt,  mingled  with  the  savage 
ferocity  of  mood  which  he  owed  to  his  recent  humiliat.ioaH 


DENOUEMENT.  £65 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

DENOUEMENT. 

FOR  a  moment,  old  Travis  seemed  to  cower  before  the  tory- 
captain.  But  the  next  instant,  he  laughed  aloud,  merrily,  as  at 
the  contemplation  of  some  queer  matter  in  thought  or  sight ; 
and  he  immediately  began  to  address  his  rambling  and  garru 
lous  discourse  to  his  new  auditor,  though  without  rising  from 
his  seat  —  the  hand  of  Bertha  still  playing  in  his  thin,  gray,  but 
long,  wild,  dishevelled  hair. 

"  Lights  and  a  fire.  Inglehardt.  Though  this  be  the  longest 
winter,  we  have  it  cheerful.  I  made  ready  for  your  coming, 
you  see.  How  did  I  guess  you  would  come  to-night  ?  It's  like 
old  times.  You  shall  have  some  punch.  A  fire  is  very  season 
able  still,  though  spring  is  coming  on.  We  have  had  winter 
long  enough.  Sit  dowD  We  shall  have  some  music  now.  You 
shall  hear  my  birds." 

Inglehardt  looked  long  and  steadily  at  the  old  man.  Was 
he  feigning  ?  "  Is  this  pretence  ?  Is  there  not  some  trick  in 
this  ?" 

Such  was  his  conjecture.  He  resented  the  idea  of  trick  as 
an  outrage.  He  suspected  all  things  and  persons.  He  could 
not  easily  persuade  himself  that  one  whom  he  had  hitherto 
(ound  so  cunning  at  the  foils,  should,  in  so  short  a  time,  almost 
at  a  bound,  become  suddenly  an  imbecile.  He  searched  Travis 
with  his  most  stern  and  penetrating  glances.  He  glanced  keenly 
to  Bertha,  who  still  stood  at  the  aperture,  looking  with  wan  de 
spair,  over  her  father's  head,  as  he  sat,  smiling  and  waving  his 
manacled  hauds,  with  a  sort  of  childlike  satisfaction.  Ingle 
hardt  surveyed  both  of  them  with  glances  of  doubt  and  disquiet 


EUTAW. 

Me  was  not  to  be  made  tlie  subject  of  fraud  and  deception.  He 
was  not  to  be  driven  from  his  purpose  by  any  juggleries.  He 
sat  down  to  the  table,  deliberately,  and  drawing  his  sword,  laid 
it  upon  a  book  which  rested  upon  the  table  between  the  two 
candles.  The  book  was  the  Bible.  How  did  it  get  there? 
Why  was  it  brought  ?  The  sword  crossing  it,  indicated  some 
mysterious  rites.  Whether  the  tory- captain  desired  to  produce 
some  impression  of  this  sort,  or  whether  he  merely  meant  to  re 
lieve  himself  of  the  hamper  of  sword  and  belt,  and  merely  flung 
them  down  in  the  place  which  first  offered  itself,  can  not  be 
said.  But  he  probably  had  a  purpose  in  it.  He  had  a  strategic 
policy  in  all  his  performances.  But  why  should  the  sword  be 
drawn  1  Could  he  design  to  use  it  on  any  of  the  parties  pros- 
ent ;  or  was  it  his  vulgar  purpose  simply  V  intimidate  —  to  in 
spire  them  with  a  fear  lest  he  should  use  it.  He  had,  as  we 
know,  a  rascally  penchant  for  stratagems;  and  there  is  no  con 
ceiving,  or  following,  the  petty  artifices  of  such  a  man,  or  conjec 
turing  the  particular  effect  which  he  aims  to  produce. 

Old  Travis  noted  with  some  curiosity,  this  ostentatious  dig 
play  of  the  weapons  of  the  tory.  He  said : — 

"  Put  up  your  sword,  Inglehardt.  Winter's  over  now,  and  we 
shall  have  supper  directly,  so  there's  no  sort  of  use  for  weapons. 
The  wars  are  over  —  the  spring  is  come,  and  we  shall  have  sup 
per.  After  supper  we  shall  have  a  bowl  of  punch  of  the  good 
old  fashion.  Put  up  your  sword  ;  for,  what  says  Shakspere  ? 
'  put  up  your  sword,  or  the  dew  will  rust  it' —  no,  that's  not  it 
exactly,"  and  he  mused  with  finger  to  his  temple.  " '  Put  up 
your  bright  sword'—  no  !  '  Keep  up  your  bright  swords  for  the 
dew  will  rust  them.'  It  occurs  in  Othello.  Ah  !  what  a  mas- 
i  Apiece  is  that !  It  is  such  a  history  as  belongs  only  to  a  warm 
climate,  such  as  ours.  Though,  by-the-way,  Inglehardt,  this 
has  been  the  longest  winter  I  have  ever  known  in  Carolina." 

Inglehardt  looked  at  Bertha. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  speaks  for  itself,"  she  answered. 

«  Yes  —  but  if  it  be  cunning  —  acting  1" 

"Acting  ?  Is  he  able,  think  you,  to  put  on  a  gray  h*ad  '.2 
the  short  space  of  four  weeks  ?  to  look  like  that !  Yon  hav? 
brought  him  to  this  !  you  only." 


DENOUEMENT.  567 

"I  shall  bring  him  to  worse  things  yet  —  and  you  to  worse, 
auless  I  can  bring  you  both  to  wiser." 

"  What  worse  than  this  1" 

"  You  shall  soon  know.     Captain  Travis — *' 

"  Well  Inglehardt,  what's  it,  now  ?  But  not  a  word  about 
business  now  till  we  have  had  supper.  You  were  always  quite  too 
fond  of  business.  I  hate  business  in  cold  weather.  You  always 
had  something  to  discuss  just  at  supper  time.  Now,  I  won't 
spoil  my  appetite  for  supper  by  any  talk  of  business  at  this 
time.  By-the-way,  fish  ought  to  be  coming  in.  I  reckon  the 
perch  are  biting  now.  How  I  long  for  a  perch  supper.  I  am 
tired  of  bacon  and  corn-bread.  The  fish  now  must  be  in  season. 
The  dogwood  must  be  in  blossom,  I  reckon.  I  have  heard  the 
frogs  nightly  for  a  week  past." 

"Captain  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt — "suppose  we  talk  of 
other  things." 

"  Well,  well,  what  other  things  ?  There's  many  other  things 
that  we  can  find  to  talk  about.  There's  the  winter  and  the 
summer ;  and  warm  weather  and  cold ;  and  wars  and  rumors 
of  wars;  and  —  hark  you,  Inglehardt  —  is  that  a  bible  that's 
before  you  1  I  wonder  where  it  came  from  ?  I  r^ver  saw  that 
book  in  our  house  before.  Is  it  a  bible  ?  It  is  not  ours." 

"  Yes.  But  I  must  beg  you  to  pay  attention  to  other  matters 
We  shall  need  the  Bible  before  we  are  done." 

"  Yes :  to  be  sure.  If  it's  the  Bible,  then  there  are  many 
other  matters.  There's  Job,  and  the  vision  in  the  night,  I 
have  seen  that  very  vision.  I  have.  It  has  made  me"  shiver 
all  over,  head  to  foot,  and  the  hair  stood  up.  on  my  head,  like 
bristles.  Yes,  other  matters  in  the  Bible.  Hell,  and  the  grave, 
and  the  devil !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Better  not  look  too  closely, 
Inglehardt,  into  the  Bible.  You've  been  a  bad  fellow  in  your 
time.  Were  a  bad  boy  when  your  daddy  was  my  overseer.  The 
Bible  has  your  case  reported  theio.  Don't  look.  It's  a  bad 
case.  The  transaction  relates  to  cattle.  I  remember  all  about 
it,  but  you  had  better  not  inquire  too  closely.  I  wouldn't,  tell 
it  for  the  world.*' 

The  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  overseer's  son  flushed  to  a  deep 
crimson.  The  random  bolt  is  ever  a  danger  where  there  are 
open  windows.  Inglehardt  answered  quickly  and  savagely. 


568  EUTAW. 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,  Captain  Travis,  and  you  kn<  w 
it.  If  you  think  to  impose  upon  me,  you  are  mistaken.  Let 
me  see  if  I  can't  bring  your  thoughts  back  to  other  matters." 

"  To  be  sure ;  other  matters  !  Well,  let  it  be  the  fish.  There 
are  ponds  about.  I  hear  the  frogs,  I  tell  you,  nightly.  By 
that  I  know  that  the  season  for  fishing  is  come.  For  what  says 
the  Bible.  The  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone ;  the 
singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in 
the  land  !  That's  it,  or  near  it.  But  I  half  forget.  I  am  afraid, 
Inglehardt,  that  you  don't  read  your  Bible  enough.  That's 
your  bible.  Why  don't  you  read  it  1  If  it  were  mine  I  should. 
It's  a  good  book  in  times  of  business.  A  first-rate  book  for 
keeping  accounts  in." 

"  He  has  got  a-talking  devil !"  exclaimed  Inglehardt  aloud, 
and  with  an  oath.  "  But  I'll  work  it  out  of  him.  Well,  Cap 
tain  Travis,  ^-e  will  open  our  accounts,  this  night,  in  the  Bible 
together." 

"  Good  !  good  1  the  first  item  relates  to  cattle." 

"  You  have  violated  your  bible  pledges  to  me,  Captain  Travis 
—  your  solemn  pledge  to  give  me  the  hand  of  your  daughter." 

"  Ah  !  that  remhids  me,  Inglehardt  —  why  do  you  keep  these 
things  on  my  hands  any  longer,  now  that  the  winter  is  over  ?  I 
find  the  clothing  too  heavy  for  spring.  Take  'em  off  I  say,  and 
let  me  have  the  use  of  my  hands  again.  How  shall  I  do  any 
fishing  in  such  harness.  Take  'em  off — wont  you?" 

"  Yes,  when  you  keep  your  pledges.  They  are  among  my 
securities  for  the  proper  performance  of  your  promise." 

"  Well,  as  you  say.     Take  'em  off:  and  let  me  go  fish." 

"  When  you  deliver  your  daughter  into  my  hands,  you  shall 
be  free." 

"  Oh  !  I've  nothing  to  do  wi  h  that.  What's  it  all  to  me  ?  I 
tell  you,  I  will  have  no  more  to  do  with  business.  I've  done 
enough.  I  must  rest  now— -1  must  sleep,  and  sport  like  the 
calves  in  pasture,  and  must  fish  in  these  ponds.  Don't  you  try 
now  to  keep  me  from  pleasure  when  I'm  awake.  I  must  soon 
sleep,  you  know." 

For  a  moment  Inglehardt  seemed  bewildered  and  desperate. 
He  was  puzzled.  He  strode  fiercely  toward  the  old  man,  who 
laughed  at  hid  emotion,  ami  held  up  his  -manacled  hands. 


DENOUEMENT.  669 

Come,  take  'em  off  at  once." 

"  Never !  till  you  do  what  I  demand." 

"  Oh !  don't  be  angry  now.  Why  should  you  be  angry  1 
What's  the  use,  and  where's  the  sense  of  being  angry  ?  Why 
can't  you  be  sweet  tempered  like  the  season,  when  the  voice  of 
the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land  ?" 

"  You  don't  cheat  me  with  this  pretence  of  simplicity.  I  tell 
you,  Captain  Travis,  that  I  will  have  you  scourged  like  a  dog, 
and  hung  up  like  one,  unless  you  speak  to  the  point." 

The  old  man  whimpered,  and  then  laughed. 

"  You  get  so  angry  of  a  sudden ;  and  just  hear  the  frogs ! 
They  sing.  They  sing  summer.  Why  don't  you  sing  summer 
like  the  frogs  ?" 

"  Dotard  !  but  you  can  not  deceive  me.  Do  you  not  compre 
hend  me,  old  man  ?"  and  he  rudely  seized  him  by  the  shoulder, 
and  shook  him  roughly  as  he  added  —  "Do  you  not  hear  that  I 
mean  to  hang  you  like  a  dog,  unless — " 

"Oh!  monstrous,  Captain  Inglehardt !"  exclaimed  Bertha  — 
"  Do  you  not  see  that  he  can  not  comprehend  you ;  that  you 
have  destroyed  him,  destroyed  his  mind  —  done  your  worst 
upon  him!" 

"  And  if  he  can  not  comprehend,  fair  mistress,  you  can,  and 
shall !  The  matter  is,  indeed,  wholly  in  your  hands.  To  your 
ears  it  is  properly  addressed.  You  are  aware  that  your  hand 
has  been  pledged  to  me  by  your  father." 

"  But  I  have  given  no  such  pledges." 

"  True ;  but  it  will  be  for  you  to  fulfil  those  which  he  has 
given,  or  bear  the  penalties  which,  as  there  is  a  God  living,  shall 
be  paid !  I  am  desperate  of  fortune,  and  just  as  desperate  of 
resolves.  You  have  seen  what  A~;  has  suffered  —  you  see  the 
result  —  in  consequence  wholly  of  your  perverse  opposition  to 
his  wishes." 

"Monstrous  !  Do  you  charge  me  \vith  the  terrible  wreck  of 
ciy  father's  brain,  the  fruit  of  your  own  cruelty  and  crime1?" 

"  Yes  ;  you  can  not  deny  that  his  wishes  were  to  this  effect 
R.S  well  as  mine ;  that  he  urged  you  to  accept  my.  hand." 

"  He  did  so.  He  honestly  kept  his  word  with  you.  But  my 
pledges  were  given  to  another." 


570  EUTAW. 

"  Ah  !  we  shall  see  if  that  other  will  save  you  from  the  con 
sequences  of  your  disobedience." 

"  There  wis  no  disobedience.  My  father  expressed  his  wish, 
but  the  will  was  wholly  mine  in  a  matter  which  affected  my 
own  happiness  only." 

"  You  are  mistaken.     You  see  how  it  has  affected  him  /" 

"How  you  have  affected  him  —  cruelly  seeking  to  compass 
your  own  objects  at  the  expense  of  right,  justice,  and  humanity/ 

"  Be  it  so  !     And  I  am  in  the  same  mood  still." 

"You  have  done  your  worst!" 

"Ah  !  do  you  think  so  ?  Do  you  forget  that  you,  too,  are  in 
my  power  ?  That  here,  in  this  almost  inaccessible  swamp,  no 
cry  of  yours,  though  shrieked  out  in  the  utmost  agony  of  na 
ture,  will  avail  for  your  relief?  Shriek  as  you  will,  there  is  no 
ear  that  hears  you,  but  mocks  at  the  suffering  which  you  de 
clare." 

"God  hears  me  — will  hear!  He  will  not  mock.  I  am  in 
his  hands." 

"And  you  really  can  not  conceive,  Bertha  Travis,  that  I 
have  the  power  to  torture  you  beyond  human  endurance  ?" 

"  Have  you  not  done  so  ?  Look  at  that  poor  old  man  !  Do 
I  not  conceive  it — do  I  not  feel  it!  God  be  merciful,  and 
strengthen  me  to  endure  all  that  you  can  inflict ;  but  know, 
Captain  Inglehardt,  that  I  am  the  pledged  wife  of  another.  Do 
what  you  will,  no  word  of  iny  mouth,  as  no  feeling  at  my  heart 
"an  make  me  yours." 

"  Ah  !     Well !  — " 

"  Look  you,  Inglehardt,  talk  to  me  —  to  me  —  why  do  you 
talk  to  her?" — now  interposed  Travis,  who  had  been  listening 
impatiently,  wondering  somewhat,  at  the  dialogue  between  the 
tory-captain  and  his  daughter.  "  Get  away  from  the  window, 
Bertha  —  a  very  comical  sort  of  window  —  get  away,  girl ;  it  v* 
not  delicate,  not  proper,  for  you  to  be  mingling  in  the  converse 
tion  of  grown  men.  You  are  but  a  child,  girl  —  remember  thai 
a  child  —  a  mere  brat,  who  ought  to  be  at  her  sampler.  I  say 
Inglehardt,  take  these  hooky  bracelets  off.  They  fetter  me  ; 
they  are  as  heavy  as  iron,  and  quite  unseasonable  now ;  take 
them' off,  for  it's  impossible  that  I  should  engage  in  any  business1 
matters,  with  such  things  on  my  hands." 


DENOUEMENT.  571 

"  Fool !"  said  Inglehardt,  whirling  him  aside,  with  contempt 
uous  violence. 

"  Fool !  Fool !  That  was  surely  an  indignity  !  I  shall  re 
member  that,  Captain  Inglehardt.  In  my  own  season,  I  will 
remember  it.  Fool !  Fool !  I  shall  remember  !  ' — and  the  old 
man  paced  the  floor  restless,  and  no  longer  laughing ;  whiie  In 
glehardt  proceeded  to  the  little  aperture  where  Bertha  stood. 

"  You  can  not  deceive  yourself,  Bertha  Travis.  You  are  in 
my  power.  I  am  desperate.  I  am  resolved  to  make  you  mine. 
My  fortunes,  and  —  hark  you — "  here  he  almost  hissed  it  in 
her  ears  — "  niy  passions  demand  it!  But  I  shall  not  subject 
you  to  indignity.  My  pride  requires  that  you  should  be  my 
honorable  wife.  This  assurance  given,  ask  yourself  if  I  have 
not  the  power  to  make  you  feel,  to  the  heart — to  the  heart's 
core  —  if  you  do  not  yield  me  your  consent?  It  is  no  longer  of 
use  to  talk  to  him  —  but  you  can  see,  feel,  know,  comprehend, 
and  to  you  I  leave  it.  Decide  —  and  quickly.  In  my  power, 
at  my  mercy,  with  all  your  family  at  my  mercy ;  and  I  am,  as 
you  may  see,  desperate  ;  ay,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  the  British 
cause  is  desperate ;  thus  making  it  essential  to  my  safety  that 
your  father's  daughter  should  be  my  wife ;  decide  whether  I 
will  scruple  at  anything  to  effect  my  purpose  !  It  is  now  my 
ne;zssity  that  will  make  me  cruel !" 

"  God  be  with  me !  Man  or  devil,  what  would  you  more  ? 
what  can  you  do  more  ?  Look  at  him  /"  and  she  pointed  to 
her  father. 

"  Ay,  I  s*e  !  It  does  not  move  me.  I  know  him  of  old  !  He 
gcorned  me  ;  and  I  found  him  out  —  a  rogue,  a  public  peculator 
—  a  liar  ;  a  traitor  j  and,  were  it  worth  my  while  I  would  bring 
him  to  a  British  gallows.  I  need  work  on  him  no  longer.  But 
do  you  forget  that  I  have  your  brother  in  my  power  also  ?" 

"What!  that  boy  r 

"  Ay,  that  boy  !  What  then  ?  Have  I  not  told  yoi*,  shown 
you,  that  I  am  desperate ;  that  nothing,  however  desperate, 
shall  be  forborne  to  compel  you  to  submission  ?  His  very  life 
— that  boy's  life  —  I  tell  you,  is  in  your  hands.  Decide! 
Decide  quickly.  Will  you  be  mine  ]" 

"Never — never  !     So  help  me  Heaven  !" 

"  So  help  me  Hell,  but  you  shall !     Ho  !  there  !  Brunson." 


672  EUTAW. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  and  Brunson  answered  from  without. 

"Do  as  I  bade  you." 

It  was  with  singular  appropriateness  —  no  want  of  mind 
shown  in  this  —  that  old  Travis  now  strode  tragically  before 
Inglehardt;  and  mouthed  out,  player-fashion :  — 

"  What  bloody  scene  hath  Roscius  now  to  act  ?" 

Inglehardt  again  hurled  him  aside,  and  with  no  sparing  hand. 

"  Oh,  this  is  very  honorable,  very  noble,  Captain  Inglehardt 
—  this  treatment  of  an  old  man,  and  in  his  condition!"  said 
Bertha. 

"  Another  indignity  to  be  remembered,  Captain  Inglehardt," 
cried  Travis,  with  a  childish  show  of  dignity.  "  Take  off  these 
bracelets!  Only  take  them  off!"  and  his  eye  glanced  at  the 
sword  upon  the  table.  Inglehardt  scowled  on  the  daughter, 
took  no  heed  of  the  father,  but,  with  grim  aspect  of  determina 
tion,  took  his  seat  before  the  table,  and  sat  inflexibly,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  In  a  few  moments  after 
there  was  a  bustle  at  the  door ;  in  another  moment  it  was 
opened,  and  the  Trailer  appeared,  dragging  in  Henry  Travis, 
who  was  now  handcuffed ;  Inglehardt  having  ordered  the  man 
acles  to  be  restored  which  the  more  notorious  Dick  of  Tophet 
had  mercifully  removed. 

At  the  sight  of  her  brother,  so  wan,  spiritless,  drooping  — 
the  mere  shadow  of  his  former  self — Bertha  cried  out  in 
agony  :— 

"  Oh,  Henry,  my  brother  !  is  it  you  ?". 

"  Bertha  !"  said  the  boy.  "  Bertha !  you  here  too  ?"  and  he 
wept.  He  had  hardly  shed  a  tear  before.  His  father  now  f^- 
proached  him. 

"  What,  Henry,  my  son  •  Hurrah,  boy  !  we  shall  soon  have 
famous  fishing.  The  perch  bite  now.  We  are  all  together.  We 
diall  have  sport.  But  I  have  something  first  to  settle  with 
Oaptain  Inglehardt." 

"  Put  that  old  fool  aside,"  said  Inglehardt. 

"  You  hear,  boy  !  He  said,  old  fool.  Captain  Inglehardt  be 
ao  good  as  to  take  off  these  bracelets." 

Inglehardt  did  not  notice  him,  but  sat,  sternly  observant  of 
everything,  at  his  table,  as  before. 

"  Bertha  Travis,  you  see,"  he  said 


DENOUEMENT.  573 

"  I  say,"  cried  old  Travis,  "  take  these  things  off,  if  you  would 
have  me  deal  with  you,  and  take  them  off  the  boy  !  Why,  Henry  > 
my  son,  you  can  do  nothing  with  these  things  on  your  hands." 

The  boy  looked  to  Bertha  with  an  air  of  bewilderment. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  Matter !  oh,  you  shall  see  soon  enough,  the  moment  thesd 
things  are  off!" 

"  Bertha  Travis,"  said  Inglehardt,  "  I  have  told  you  what  to 
expect — what  to  fear  !  Do  you  consent?  The  parson  will  be 
here  in  five  minutes." 

"  Captain  Inglehardt,  why  will  you  persist  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  am  betrothed  to  another  ?" 

"  Does  he  want  to  force  yon  to  many  him  1"  demanded 
Henry.  "Don't,  sister.  Never  marry  a  man  like  him.  Be 
sides — " 

"  Bertha,  once  more — do  you  consent  ?" 

"Never !  never!" 

"And  J  say,  never.  I  don't  know  what  it  is — but  I  gay, 
never,  till  you  have  first  settled  with  me  /"  said  the  father,  but 
Inglehardt  gave  him  no  heed. 

"  Proceed  !"  he  said,  coldly  and  sternly,  to  the  Trailer.  The 
latter,  by  this  time,  had  adjusted  a  small  rope  over  one  of  the 
cross-pieces  of  the  cabin-roof,  and  he  pointed  to  it. 

"  Not  that  yet  /"  said  Inglehardt ;  and  the  next  instant,  the 
willing  creature,  merciless  and  murderous,  grappled  with  the 
boy,  and  proceeded  to  pass  a  cord  around  his  forehead. 

"  Don't  do  that,  man  !"  cried  old  Travis ;  "  you  will  hurt  the 
boy." 

"  That's  jest  what  we  mean  to  do !"  was  the  answer  of  the 
Trailer,  given  with  a  chuckle. 

"  But  I  won't  suffer  it !  Take  off  these  things,  and  I'll  show 
you !"  cried  Travis. 

The  ruffian  laughed  outright,  as  he  continued  to  draw  the 
cord  about  the  boy's  brows. 

"  Spare  him !  Oh,  Captain  Inglehardt,  how  can  you  have 
the  heart  to  harm  this  child  ?"  cried  Bertha. 

"  It  is  your  heart,  not  mine,  Bertha  Travis.  Did  I  not  tell 
jrou  that  I  am  desperate  ?" 

"Do  not  beg  for  me,'  Bertha  —  I  don't  fear  him,"  said  the 
brave  boy. 


674  EUTAW. 

"  Hands  off,  you  dirty  scamp  !"  cried  old  Travis.  "  This  is 
my  son,  I'd  let  you  know.  My  son  !  only  take  off  these  cursed 
things  —  they  are  fetters  —  they  are  iron  —  and  you  shall  see! 
I  am  an  old  man,  but  I  have  my  teeth  !  teeth  !"  and  he  showed 
them,  gnashing  fiercely  together. 

"  Say  the  word,  cappin  !"  said  Brunson. 

"  Say  what  word,  fellow  ?  What  word  should  he  say  ? 
Hear  what  I  say !  Take  off  these  things.  They  fetter  the 
boy.  They  hurt  him.  They  prevent  his  growth.  At  his  age, 
not  a  limb  should  be  restrained  from  exercise.  He  should  ride, 
should  run,  should  leap,  should  wrestle,  if  you  would  make  a 
strong  man  of  him.  And  this  is  the  very  season  when  every 
thing  should  leap  —  when  the  colt  leaps,  and  the  lamb,  and  the 
calf,  bird,  and  beast ;  and  so  should  he.  He  should  ride. 
Where's  his  horse  1  Where's  your  horse,  Henry,  my  son  ? 
Have  it  got  in  the  morning,  and  ride.  Don't  let  them  keep 
these  things  on  you,  which  fetter  your  proper  exercise.  I  say, 
Captain  Inglehardt,  make  your  fellow  take  off  those  iron  things. 
They  must  hurt  the  boy,  and  prevent  his  proper  exercise." 

"  Jest  as  the  cappin  says,"  quoth  Brunsou,  while  he  coolly 
continued  to  adjust  the  rope  about  the  forehead  of  the  boy,  who 
was  sufficiently  restiff  to  make  the  operation  a  difficult  one. 

"  Do  you  see  what  he's  doing  with  the  boy,  Captain  Ingle 
hardt  ?  Do  you  approve  of  what  he  does  ?  Do  you  hold  your 
self  responsible  for  what  he  does  ?" 

"  Certainly  !     I  command  everything  he  does." 

"  You  do,  do  you  ?  Then,  sir,  let  us  have  it  out  as  soon  as 
possible!  Pistols  —  or  what  you  please!  But,  take  off  these 
irons,  and  I  am  ready  for  you.  Oh,  you  will  find  that  I  can 
shoot !  Ay,  sir,  and  I  can  use  a  small-sword,  too ;  only  take 
off  these  bandages !" 

Meanwhile,  the  Trailer -had  succeeded  in  fixing  the  cord 
around  the  brows  of  the  boy,  the  latter  wincing  from  the  prepa 
rations  rather  than  the  pain,  and,  without  knowing  the  charac 
ter  of  the  vile  Spanish  torture  that  was  contemplated,  readily 
conceiving,  by  sure  instincts,  that  some  peculiar  cruelty  was 
meant.  When  he  could  no  longer  resist,  he  cried  out  :— 

"Father,  oh  father,  help  me-— save  me  !  This  man  is  gor.jg 
to  kill  me !'' 


DENOUEMENT.  575 

The  old  man  seemed  suddenly  to  be  seized  with  a  shivering, 
as  if,  in  that  instant,  lie  was  vouchsafed  a  sufficient  gleam  of 
reason  to  show  how  impotent  he  was  to  save.  He  tottered  in 
the  direction  of  the  boy,  with  his  braceleted  hands  outstretched, 
but  suddenly  turned  to  Inglehardt. 

"  Don't !  don't !  For  God's  sake,  don't  hurt  him  !  Why 
would  you  rope  his  head  ?  It  will  give  him  headache." 

"  I  reckon  it  will,  and  a  mighty  bad  one  too,"  chuckled  Brim- 
son,  looking  to  his  employer,  and  waiting  for  his  word.  He 
had  so  adjusted  the  cord  that,  by  inserting  a  pistol-butt  into  a 
loop  of  the  rope,  he  could  contract  it  in  a  moment  by  a  single 
twist. 

"  Jest  say  when,  cappin,  and  I  gives  him  sich  a  twist  as  will 
make  him  see  daylight  in  another  world,  I  reckon.  I  knows 
the  trick  of  old." 

Inglehardt  looked  at  Bertha.  His  purpose  was  to  compel  her 
terrors  in  especial.  She  stood  with  clasped  hands,  in  an  inde 
scribable  torture,  incapable  of  speech.  Her  eyes  were  vacant, 
glassy,  fixed,  yet  unintelligible.  She  gave  no  other  sign. 

"Proceed  !"  cried  the  ruthless  despot;  and,  at  the  word,  the 
Trailer  gave  but  a  single  twist  to  the  pistol,  and  the  boy 
screamed  aloud  with  his  agony.  Then  Bertha  shrieked  out : — 

"I  consent!  —  anything — only  spare  him  —  do  not  harm  the 
child!" 

But  old  Travis  had  not  witnessed  the  proceedings  with  equa 
nimity.  He  had  recovered  from  his  shuddering  terrors.  He 
was  in  another  mood. 

"  You  will  hurt  the  boy  !"  he  cried. 

"  We  means  to,"  answered  the  Trailer.  "  It's  jest  what  the 
cappin  says.  If  he  says,  I'll  twist  till  I  twists  the  head  off." 

"  Inglehardt,"  cried  old  Travis,  "  you  don't  mean  to  hurt 
little  Henry !" 

"  I  mean  all  that  I  do." 

"But  you  don't!"  cried  the  other,  approaching  the  table 
where  Inglehardt  sat.  The  features  and  movements  of  Travis, 
looks  and  gestures,  on  the  instant  seemed  to  undergo  a  sudden 
change.  His  form  was  bent  forward,  as  if  crouching  and  creep 
ing  up.  The  movement  was  stealthy,  like  that  of  a  cat.  His 
braceleted  hands  were  lifted  up  before  his  breast,  and  slightly 


EUTAW. 

thrust  forward.  The  fists  were  doubled.  There  was  a  mixture 
of  ferocity  and  cunning  in  his  eyes,  as  lie  approached,  which 
suddenly  arrested  the  attention  of  Inglehardt.  At  that  moment 
a  pistol-shot  was  heard  without.  Both  Inglehardt  and  the  Trailer 
started,  the  former  catching  up  his  sword. 

"  Was  that  a  shot  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  reckon  'twas  nothing  else,"  was  the  answer.  "  It's  a 
pistol-shot,  but  whose  ? — " 

"  Devil  Dick  is  at  the  cypress,  is  he  not  ?" 

"Yes  —  I  seed  him  go  there." 

Inglehardt  turned  once  more  to  Travis,  who  had  approached 
the  table  before  which  the  tory-chief  resumed  his  seat. 

"Stand  back,  sir!"  said  Inglehardt,  as  he  saw  that  Travis 
nearly  touched  the  table. 

"  Shall  I  give  him  another  twist?"  demanded  Brunson. 

"  No  !  wait !  Did  I  understand  you  to  consent,  Bertha  Travis, 
to  our  immediate  union  ?" 

Before  she  could  reply,  old  Travis  interposed,  and,  striking 
his  handcuffs  down  heavily  upon  the  little  table,  he  leaned  for 
ward  toward  Inglehardt. 

"  Look  you,  Inglehardt — " 

"Stand  back,  sir!"  said  the  latter,  instinctively  presenting 
his  sword  —  a  cut  and  thrust  —  as  the  instinct,  rather  than  any 
mental  suggestion,  seemed  to  warn  him  of  danger  in  the  old 
man's  eye. 

"  What !  you  are  for  the  swords,  are  you  ?  You  prefer  them, 
do  you,  to  pistols  ?  Well,  I  don't  care — " 

"  Back,  I  say  !     You  will  be  hurt." 

"Father!  father!"  cried  Bertha,  entreatingly.  "Come  to 
me,  father !" 

"  Sword  or  pistols,  it  doesn't  matter !"  muttered  the  imbecile, 
his  eye  fastening  with  singular  intensity  upon  that  of  Ingle 
hardt.  The  latter  was  about  to  rise,  still  keeping  his  sword's 
point  at  the  breast  of  the  other.  In  the  act  of  rising,  his  eye 
was  diverted  a  moment  from  that  of  Travis.  That  momentary 
withdrawal  of  his  eye  lost  him  the  natural  influence  with  which 
he  might  have  controlled  the  growing  insanity  of  hi,«  captive 
In  that  one  moment,  Travis  —  his  soul  freed  from  its  master  — 
made  a  single,  tiger-like  bound  —  threw  down  the  table  between 


DENOUEMENT. 

them  —  threw  himself  directly,  fully,  fairly,  upon  Inglehardt  — 
and  the  two  went  down  together  to  the  floor,  crushing  the  chaii 
beneath  them,  and  shaking  the  very  house  in  their  fall. 

The  cut  and  thrust  of  Inglehardt,  meanwhile,  passed  clean 
through  the  body  of  his  assailant  —  passed  through  a  vital 
region  —  inflicting  a  mortal  wound,  which  left  him  but  a  few 
moments  of  life. 

But  those  few  moments  sufficed.  He  did  not  feel  the  pain  of 
his  wound  —  did  not  feel  the  hurt  at  all;  the  tiger-like  insanity 
of  his  blood,  at  that  moment,  making  the  deadly  thrust  of  no 
more  consequence  tha*n  the  pricking  of  a  needle. 

And,  prone  upon  the  body  of  his  tyrant — spread  out  and 
covering  him  from  head  to  foot  —  his  hands  armed  only  with 
their  iron  bracelets,  the  handcuffs-  — he  smote  heavil/,  rapidly, 
repeatedly,  as  the  blacksmith  smites  the  anvil  with  the  sledge 
hammer —  every  blow  delivered  upon  the  face  and  forehead  of 
Inglehardt !  The  eyes  of  the  insolent  enemy  were  driven  in, 
the  face  battered  out  of  feature,  the  skull  crashed  into  a  |  Jpy 
mass,  the  life  utterly  extinct  in  the  captor,  before  T-avis  was 
conscious  of  his  own  hurt !  He  himself,  a  moment  after,  and 
while  still  in  the  act  of  striking,  rolled  over,  with  a  single  con 
vulsion,  and  lay  dead  upon  the  floor  ! 

The  affair  seemed  h-,trdly  to  consume  a  moment.  No  time 
had  been  left  for  Branson  to  interfere.  He  was  taken  by  sur 
prise,  and,  lacking  in  impulse  and  readiness,  all  was  over  before 
he  could  well  turn  to  observe  the  combatants. 

Bertha,  horror-stricken  into  dumbness,  stood,  ghastly  pale, 
gazing  through  the  hole  in  the  wall,  with  a  stare  like  that  of 
idiocy.  Henry  Travis  was  the  first  to  recover ;  and,  while 
Brunson  was  looking  on  bewildered,  the  boy  shook  himself  free 
from  his  grasp,  and  had  he  not  been  handcuffed  also,  would,  nft 
doubt,  in  that  moment,  have  turned  with  desperate  and  fatal 
efficiency  upon  the  Trailer.  The  latter,  recovering  himself  at 
the  evasion  of  Henry  from  his  grasp,  rather  than  at  the  horrid 
sight  which  he  beheld,  in  his  first  movement  made  after  the 
boy.  He,  prompt  as  a  young  eagle,  dashed  through  the  door, 
which  had  been  left  unlocked,  and,  with  a  cry  of  fury,  Brunson 
hurried  after  him.  But  the  Trailer  hurried  only  to  meet  his 
fate  i 


578  EUTAW. 

Henry  Travis  eoor.  found  himself  in  the  grasp  of  Willie  Sin 
clair —  safe  —  while,  in  a  moment  after,  the  Trailer  went  down 
lifeless  beneath  a  single  stroke  from  the  powerful  claymore  of 
the  dragoon. 

A  few  moments  sufficed  for  the  rescue  of  Bertha.  She  was 
borne  away  by  her  lover  from  the  horrid  spectacle,  and  carried 
to  the  wigwam  of  Blodgit,  where  the  touching  condition  of  poor 
Nelly  Floyd,  arid  the  duty  of  nursing  her,  appealing  fortunately 
to  her  humanity,  served — though  still  how  sadly  —  to  lessen  in 
some  degree  the  force  of  that  terrible  shock  which  her  mind  had 
received ! 

To  bury  the  dead  —  to  remove  the  wounded  and  still  living 
—  these  were  duties  to  which,  we  need  not  say,  that  Willie  Sin 
clair  gave  instant  heed.  We  need  waste  no  time  upon  details, 
which  were  inevitable  from  the  circumstances,  and  from  the 
character  of  the  now  governing  authority  in  Muddicoat  Castle. 
Inglehardt  and  his  followers  were  buried  in  the  swamp.  The 
remains  of  Travis  were  subsequently  borne  away  to  the  family 
vault  at  Holly-Dale. 

1  oor  Neiiy  I— 
Was  it  the  same  owl  that  hooted  the  prelude  to  our  tragedy, 
which  now,  suddenly  as  mournfully,  wailed  above  the  hovel 
where  she  lay  dying  ? 

Dying,  but  how  placidly  —  how  sweetly,  with  her  head  sup 
ported  by  Bertha  Travis,  and  her  eyes  looking  lovingly  up  to 
those  of  that  damsel,  and  the  brave-soulcd  and  strong-limbed 
Willie  Sinclair.  He,  too,  could  weep  —  that  fearless,  desperate 
soldier  —  weep  as  a  child — the  conflict  over,  the  blow  stricken, 
the  battle  won ! 

The  owl  has  hooted  her  last  notes  for  the  night.  Day  dawns. 
Nelly  Floyd  still  lives  — still  smiles  — knows  all  — knows  that 
she  is  dying,  and  still  smiles ! 

"If  I  could  only  see  good  Mother  Ford!"  she  says;  and 
Sinclair,  waiting  for  the  carriage  with  which  he  hopes  to  remove 
her,  sends  off  one  of  his  dragoons  to  Mother  Ford's,  with  in 
structions  to  bring  her  to  the  widow  Avinger's.  If  she  is  toi» 
late  to  see  her  lovely  protege  alive,  she  will  help  to  deck  her 
for  the  grave. 


DENOUEMENT.  »>/i 

"Oh!  if  I  could  see  Sherrod  Nelson  !"  sajH  the  girl,  hanlly 
conscious  that  she  speaks  at  all. 

And  that  prayer,  too,  Sinclair  hopes  to  gratify.  He  despatches 
another  dragoon  to  the  camp  where  Sherrod  Nelson  s  a  captivo. 
And  the  day  wore  on  till  noon,  and  Nelly  lived.  Shs  had  a 
noble  vitality.  But  for  that  luckless,  cruel  bullet  of  Dick  cf 
Tophet ! 

At  noon,  the  carriage  has  reached  the  boundaries  of  Ifciddi- 
coat  Castle.  A  litter,  meanwhile,  has  been  prepared,  through 
the  providence  of  Sinclair,  by  means  of  which,  Nelly  has  been 
borne  across  the  swamp,  without  much  pain  or  inconvenient  :•, 
She  is  put  upon  the  mattress  in  the  carriage,  and  Bertha  Trivia 
takes  a  place  beside  her.  And  with  all  possible  tenderness,  r-hs 
is  thus  carried,  over  the  untrodden  ways,  until  they  reach  th-s 
house  of  the  widow  Avinger. 

The  patient  is  faint  but  not  exhausted.  It  was  astonishing, 
the  tenacity  of  life  which  she  possessed  !  Mortally  wounded, 
her  lungs  perforated  by  the  bullet,  she  still  lives,  breathes,  and 
speaks,  for  thirty-six  hours  after  the  event. 

St.  Julien  arrives  with  his  squad,  and  Sherrod  Nelson  comes 
with  him.  He  receives  the  dying  breath  of  the  young  girl,  not 
suspecting,  to  the  last,  how  dear  had  been  his  image  to  her 
soul !  She  leaves  a  message  for  his  mother,  and  a  dying  bles 
sing,  in  which  old  Mother  Ford  has  a  share. 

The  old  lady  arrives  in  season.  All  assembled  about  the 
bedside  of  the  innocent  victim  —  no  longer  a  sufferer,  for  the 
worst  pangs  of  soul  an.d  body  are  passed !  She  has  all  beside 
her  whom  she  loves.  Her  cares  are  ended  with  her  duties 
Fond  hands  press  her  own ;  loving  eyes,  swimming  in  tears, 
watch  the  flickering  soul-lustre  which  still  lingers  in  her. 
She  has  possessed  herself  of  a  hand  of  Sherrod  Nelson  on  one 
side,  of  Bertha  Travis  on  the  other.  They  feel  the  frequent 
pressure  of  her  fingers. 

To  Bertha  Travis  she  whispers,  "  Will  you  take  care  of  poor 
Aggy  ?"  To  Mother  Ford,  "  Ah,  mother,  if  I  could  only  live  tc 
help  you  on  the  little  farm."  To  Sherrod  Nelson,  "  Oh,  Sher 
rod  !  tell  your  mother  how  much  I  loved  her  to  the  last."  And 
her  eyes  the?  traversed  the  several  mournful  faces  in  the  circle, 
and  sighed  deeply  —  then  somewhat  quickly,  murmured,  "Do 


EUTAW. 

not  look  so  sac  Do  not  grieve  for  me.  I  do  not  feel  pain 
I  am  not  sorry  to  go.  I  have  done  all  that  I  had  to  do,  though 
I  am  so  very  young — very  young  !"  And  she  looked  at  Sher- 
rod  Nelson,  and  her  own  eye?  filled.  She  feebly  tried  to  turn 
away  her  head,  but  her  strength  failed  her;  and  she  shut  the 
eyes  whose  fountains  were  overflowing ! 

And  thus  she  remained  silent,  for  awhile,  ^oming  to  sleep. 
Suddenly,  she  started,  her  eyes  opening,  di Kiting  widely  — 
somewhat  wildly  —  with  a  strange,  spiritual  expression,  that 
seemed  full  of  fear.  But  this  expression  passed  off  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  a  sweet  smile. of  perfect  consciousness  followed  it, 
mantling  her  whole  face  as  a  radiant  sunset  suddenly  flushes  up 
the  sky,  ere  the  dusk  night  covers  it. 

In  a  few  moments  after,  Sherrod  Nelson  felt  her  fingers  feebly 
pressing  his  hand  —  and  he  could  just  detect  the  whispered, 
parting  words,  "Good-by,  Sherrod  —  good! — happy  —  bless! — " 
And  the  voice  ceased.  She  lay  as  one  sleeping  with  that  sun 
set  flush  of  soul-sweetness  still  giving  a  heavenly  glow  to  face 
and  forehead.  They  thought  she  slept.  And  she  did.  But  it 
was  the  sleep  of  death.  She  had  passed  without  pang  or  strug 
gle,  into  the  sacred  slumber  of  eternity  i 

Our  action  has  reached  its  proper  finish.  The  obstacles 
which  warred  with  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the  surviving 
parties  to  our  drama,  being  at  an  end,  we  scarce  need  the  de 
tails  which  report  their  future  progress.  We  know  that  Sin 
clair  and  Bertha,  after  a  certain  interval,  were  united  and  lived 
iiappily  together.  We  are  in  daily  communication  with  their 
descendants  —  a  noble  progeny,  from  the  goodly  pair  whose 
fortunes  we  have  pursued  so  long.  Our  baron  of  Sinclair  had 
been  effectually  subdued,  and  not  only  forebore  opposition  to 
Bertha  Travis,  but  welcomed  her  with  a  love  that  almost  vied 
with  that  of  his  son.  He  subsequently  made  merry  with  his 
own  prejudices,  and  frequently  summoned  Bertha  to  his  side  by 
her  nom  de  guerre  of  Annie  Smith.  Willie  and  Bertha  were 
united  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  at  a  period  when  the 
war  left  to  our  dragoon  colonel  a  temporary  respite  from  active, 
duty.  Indeed,  the  battle  of  Eutaw  left  but  little  to  be  done. 
Neither  of  the  two  great  '»p[.MsiTiPp  narties  were  in  a  condition  to 


DENOUEMENT.  Odl 

andertake  any  bold  enterprise,  and  the  final  capture  of  Cora- 
wallis,  at  Forktown,  sufficed  to  render  Great  Britain  satisfied  to 
yield  the  struggle,  and  concede  to  the  revolted  colonies  that 
independence,  against  which  it  seemed  merely  a  waste  of  blood 
and  treasure  to  contend.  That  her  colonies  should  rise  into  free 
states,  seemed,  at  length,  even  to  her  eyes,  to  become  a  decree 
of  fate  —  one  of  the  fixed  facts  of  Destiny. 

How  the  war  still  lingered,  and  with  what  petty  strifes  in 
Carolina,  we  need  not  report  in  these  pages.  Enough,  perhaps, 
as  we  may  never  meet  with  him  again,  in  fiction,  to  report,  that 
our  brave  boy,  Henry  Travis,  obtained  a  cornetcy  of  dragoons, 
under  Sinclair,  and  served  with  great  spirit,  zeal,  and  promise, 
to  the  end  of  the  war.  We  all  know  what  was  the  good  result 
of  that  training  which  he  then  received,  from  the  high  distinc 
tion  which  he  won  subsequently,  and  long  after,  in  the  West, 
when,  as  Colonel  Travis,  he  went  through  the  Creek  and  Semi- 
nole  campaign,  and  in  the  war  of  1812,  fully  displayed  the 
admirable  uses  of  the  lessons  which  he  had  acquired  in  that  of 
the  Revolution. 

The  baron  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  in  spite  of  gout  and  Ma 
deira.  He  and  Mrs.  Travis  were  equally  fortunate  and  happy, 
in  being  able  to  dandle  numerous  grandchildren  upon  their 
knees. 

Good  old  Mother  Ford,  with  Aggy,  took  up  her  abode  with 
Carrie  Sinclair,  whose  union  with  St.  Julien,  made  the  baron 
wince  a  little,  even  at  the  moment  of  the  nuptials ;  but  we  have 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  Carrie's  children  were  less  his  favor 
ites  than  Willie's. 

The  benevolent  widow  Avinger  suddenly  passed  into  a  large 
and  loving  circle  of  grateful  friends,  who  ministered  fondly  to 
her  declining  years ;  making  them  subside,  finally,  into  a  gentle 
sleep,  in  which  all  the  dreams  were  pleasant.  Ballou,  'Bram, 
Benny  Bowlegs,  and  Cato,  served  out  the  campaign  of  life  in 
close  connection  with  the  superiors  whom  they  had  loved  and 
followed ;  useful  during  their  days  of  vigor,  and  honored  and 
protected  in  their  decline.  The  two  former,  it  may  be  said, 
continued  to  scout  till  the  close  of  the  war ;  while  neither  of 
them  utterly  renounced  his  faith  in  Jamaica  as  one  of  tbo 
greatest  blessings  vouchsafed  bv  Providence. to  man  I 


582  EDTAW. 

Of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  the  mournful  history  may  be  reaa 
m  the  pages  of  the  poet  Moore. 

Sinclair  and  Bertha  Travis  were  married  on  the  22d  of  May 
of  the  year  following  the  events  recorded  in  this  chapter.  On 
the  22d  of  April,  the  year  after,  they  were  blessed  with  a 
daughter.  As  the  fond  young  couple  gazed  together  upon  the 
child,  Bertha  exclaimed  : — 

"  Oh,  Willie  !  did  you  ever  see  such  a  likeness  to  poor  Nelly 
Floyd  ?" 

"  It  is  wonderful !  We  owe  it  to  that  dear,  good,  sainted 
girl,  Bertha  —  we  will  name  this  little  creature  after  her!" 

"  Ellen  Floyd  Sinclair,"  as  many  of  us  will  remember,  was 
the  belle  of  her  district,  during  the  long  term  of  seven  years, 
from  her  fifteenth  to  her  twenty-second  year,  when  she  married 
Colonel  Walter  Surry  Lucas,  of  St.  Stephen's  parish ;  her 
veign,  as  a  belle,  ceasing  only  when  she  became  a  wife,  in  1802, 
but  hardly  ceasing  as  a  beauty,  even  when  she  had  five  bright 
children  of  her  own,  in  1819,  when  we  had  the  pleasure  to 
know  her  first,  under  the  roof  of  her  brother  at  the  barony, 
where  we  spent  a  week  with  all  the  then  surviving  parties  to 
our  story.  It  was  a  sweet  and  beautiful  reunion  —  one  which 
seemed  to  realize  to  fact,  as  to  fancy,  the  glorious  delights  and 
grateful  simplicities  of  the  Golden  Age.  It  was  on  that  visit 
that  we  gained  a  knowledge  of  the  parties  and  events,  cut  of 
which  we  have  framed  this  truthful  chronic)^ 


THE     END. 


14  DAY  USE 

§    RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

'    >  '  '  «     _W  \  • 


LOAN  DEPT. 


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